Shadows' Shadows
by Ambiguity in D Major
Summary: It was foolproof. He'd trade his arm and Gate for Alphonse and go home. Simple, right? Unfortunately, nothing is ever that easy for Edward Elric. Rated T for language. Thanks for beta-ing to Lhurgoyf
1. The Small Mistakes

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. At all. This entire story is a fusion of the plots of Harry Potter, by the esteemed JK Rowling and Fullmetal Alchemist by Hiromu Arakawa. All characters, plot elements, and intellectual property belongs to those two authors. Again, and for the last time, I own nothing and make no profit from this writing, and the same is true for the entire story.**

**Now that the boring legal stuff is out of the way...**

**The opening to this story is extremely confusing unless you remember that little scene during the final battle where Pride is getting thrashed by our favorite pipsqueak alchemist. Pride, who is rapidly falling apart, tries to make Ed his new host. Ed blasts him apart and continues on his merry way. This story changes a few of those minute details. Just for all of you who forgot that scene.**

**Anyway, since I know none of you read long author's notes-**

**On with the story!**

It was the same old scene. Blank, empty whiteness. Good old reliable Gate of Truth ready to rip off some body parts. And here he was, ready to give up everything to save his little brother. Again.

Ah, nostalgia.

Truth began to speak. Hopefully to accept the trade. Then he'd be able to return with Al, minus a measly arm and Gate, and live the rest of his life peacefully. He'd earned at least that much.

Yeah, right.

"_So you want to give me your arm for your brother's soul, your Gate for his body," _the grinning being said. _"There's a problem with that, partially stemming from the Stone I'm assuming you don't know is in your chest."_

Edward felt rage. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE'S A PROB…" He trailed off as his brain processed the rest of the sentence. "Stone? Me? Chest?"

Truth's perpetual grin took on an air of superiority, much like the Colonel's smirk. It made Ed want to punch the stupid silhouette and leave.

"_Well, that homunculus who tried to take your body almost made it. You cut him off just in time. However, that doesn't change the fact that part of the stone still made it. You, little al-che-mist… are a Homunculus._

Ed's shock at the casual pronouncement completely overrode his customary reaction to implications on his (lack of) height.

"But… I'm still me." The statement was more of a question, and filled with confusion.

"_Oh, you want to know why the Stone hasn't taken your soul yet? It's still in shock from losing its identity, and is busy forming a new Pride. It'll make itself noticed right… about… _now_."_

Everything went red and blurry. He heard lightning crackling along with what he detachedly recognized as his own screaming. When it was over, he barely realized it. His head was full of noise. Screaming, crying, pleading, souls, trapped in the stone. Trapped in _him._ Then, everything was mercifully still. The silence in his head was replaced with one voice, much different than the Pride from before. This voice was much less cold and distant, but still held all of the untold menace.

"**-swear if you don't all stay quiet I'll find a way to eat you all a second time!"**

Ed's eye twitched. It was quite disconcerting to have other people… things… beings thinking in his mental space.

"**Well, get used to it. There's two of us in here now. Or one thousand, six hundred and twelve if you count all those whiners in back."**

Ed frowned. He hadn't said that out-

"**-loud?"**

There was a moment in which the prodigal Fullmetal Alchemist's mind went completely blank. This was followed by a confused and astonished whirlwind of thought, theory, and scheming that followed the general lines of '_Holy shit he can read my mind'_.

Truth took that moment to interrupt what could have been a very long session of Q/A.

"_Yes, he's in your mind, and I'm sure you want him out. Now, about your toll,_" The alchemist's attention immediately returned. _"Your brother's soul will be returned. I can take your arm, same trade as last time. But it would grow back immediately."_

Ha! He'd found a loophole!

"_So I'll just take it and give you something else so it can't."_

Crap.

Arms shot out of the gate, snatching, grabbing, tearing at his right arm. If anything, the pain was worse the second time around. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut.

'For Al. Come on, you can take this. You've done it before.'

And then it was over. Ed looked down, wondering what Truth's sick idea of a 'replacement' was. He steeled himself, prepared for the worst.

Oh. Automail. It looked exactly as it had when Winry had last repaired it. So Truth wasn't going to screw him this time. Or maybe he hadn't gotten around to it yet.

"_And now for the rest of your payment."_

Yep. Getting around to it now.

"Can't you just take my stone as payment?" Ed asked. "It should definitely be enough, if it's most of Pride."

"**What, and I don't get a say in my destruction?"**

"No."

Truth shook its head. _"I _could, _if it was actually a price to you. You want that stone out anyway. Getting rid of it to save your brother wouldn't be equivalent."_

"Then take my gate."

"_Can't do that either. As a homunculus, you are a being of alchemy. It is an integral part of you. Any attempt to get rid of it won't end well for you."_

"This is all your fault."

"**Me? How? I wasn't even born yet! It's that other Pride's fault, not me! You think I want to be in here, sharing a mind with an antisocial bookworm with a Napoleon complex?"**

"_But there is another way."_ If it were physically possible, the creepy grin probably would have widened even further. As it was, it remained grotesquely, insanely wide. Mocking him.

"_See, I had a lot of fun watching your little adventures al-che-mist. It's going to be boring without you. So I have a deal for you. You work for me, travel around, solve a couple problems for me. I take some of the stone for each imbalance you correct."_

Ed frowned. "Why can't you do that yourself?"

For once, the grin lessened. Just a bit. A tiny bit. Not that Truth would ever admit that fact.

"_I'm not all powerful, just omniscient. The Gate can only interfere when invoked, and there are some worlds where its hold is too weak for even that. I need someone to do the dirty work for me. Someone like you."_

"Some worlds? The hell does that even mean?"

The grin widened again. Back to full blast, with the smug tone included.

"_Where did you think the Gate goes to? It, like any other door, leads somewhere. Or, in the case of an omnidimensional phenomenon, everywhere at once. Goodbye, and do provide some good entertainment."_

The Gate slowly opened. As it did so, Edward saw Alphonse's body being reconstructed before his eyes.

"Nii-san!"

The arms began to wrap around Ed's body, and pull him towards the inky blackness of the Gate. Ed looked towards the Truth.

"Could I talk to my brother first? I need to tell him about the deal."

Truth couldn't have sounded any more gleeful.

"_Got anything to trade?"_

Damn.

"Nii-san!" Al's voice grew panicked. "_What did you do?"_

Ed looked through the small opening on his face not covered by the arms.

"Just wait, Al. I'll be-" Ed's form was completely dragged into the doors, which quickly swung shut, as if eager to cut him off. Well, that didn't sound very reassuring. Knowing Al, all he'd do is worry now. Ah, well, nothing he could do about it.

Alphonse turned to Truth.

"What did he trade?"

The Truth, the One, the All, the Universe, turned to Al, and spoke one word.

"_Bye."_

"Wait, wha-" Al was cut off in midsentence as he, like his brother, was dragged into the Gate, towards a very relieved and frustrated group of friends.

Truth sat back down and examined its now-reclaimed arm.

"_This'll be interesting,"_ it mused. _"Maybe I should have told him about- no, more fun this way."_

* * *

For a while, Ed just floated in a dark void. It was quite different than the blank, open whiteness of before. Here, he felt closed in, though still had a sense of going somewhere. At least, he hoped he was. Yep. Just alone with his thoughts.

"**And me."**

And Pride.

"**So, about the whole trying to give me up to save your brother thing? Kind of wasn't the best way to greet a new neighbor."**

Ed snorted. The sound felt flat and empty, as if the void around him had sucked the emotion from his laugh.

"I _don't_ want you in my head. You tried to kill me. And my brother. And my friends. And-"

"**All right, all right. So the last Pride may have done some things to maybe make you mad, but taking it out on me is a little harsh. **_**I**_** never did anything. At least, that I can remember."**

"I-" Ed's retort was cut off abruptly as he was violently jerked to his left. All of a sudden, a white doorway opened up in front of him, and he was forcibly yanked through the opening.

* * *

Grindelwald's chief enforcer looked on over the scene before him with a grim smile. Blood of innocents to start the ceremony? Check. Expendable underlings ready to perform the ritual? Check. Enormous runic array that took weeks to finish? Check, check, double check.

It was perfect.

The only thing left was to actually carry out the seventh-degree summoning. It had been months ago when his master had come to him with the directive- secure a powerful being to harness. With a demon of a suitable level of power, the possibilities were limitless. Wards could be tied to it. Power could be siphoned off to supply numerous spells and other magical projects the army had underway. The war would be theirs! All they had to do was actually bind the thing. This was the culmination of half a year of research into the most obscure of runic text, the scribblings of power-mad mages, and the literal sweat, blood, and tears of the Ancient Rune specialists on hand.

But now it was time.

As he gave the command to start, the underlings raised their wands, pointing towards the exact center of the array, and began the chant Imperio'd into their memory. It wasn't a matter of forcing them, but one of making sure they didn't screw this up. A single misplaced syllable and the whole thing could backfire, and the- quite likely angry- demon would be free to slaughter them all. As it was, everyone who wasn't absolutely vital to the project's success had cleared the area hours ago.

The runes shone with a pale-blue light, and static of the same color sparked along the intricately carved lines, coalescing in the middle. It piled up, forming an indistinct mass of writhing electricity until all at once, the whole lightshow stopped.

The hardened veteran tightened his grip on the railing he was leaning on.

"Keep going!" he ordered. As if they would stop. The Imperius made sure of that. Such a useful spell.

Now visible in the center of the circle was an enormous set of pitch black doors, carved with fantastic designs in intricate detail, carvings of humans suffering. A portal to the underworld, perhaps, the man mused. Slowly, the doors creaked open, revealing a white void beyond. Strange. He'd always assumed that it would be black. Or at the very least, glowing red, with the screams of the damned ringing in the background. Compared to what he'd imagined, a blank white seemed… boring. There was still something very unsettling about that whiteness. He wanted those doors closed, the ritual done.

Then, in great contrast to the gradual pace the rest of the ritual had taken place at, a screaming red figure was hurled out of the void. The doors slammed shut with a resounding bass **boom** that he felt in his bones, and then disappeared. The grunts lowered their arms, and cautiously stared at the strange being that they had summoned with a mix of curiosity, fear, and relief that they hadn't been toasted. Sure, it **looked** small, but they all knew exactly how powerful what they had just called was. It had been repeatedly explained to them in an attempt to display exactly how dead they were if they messed up.

The enforcer almost actually smiled. Now, as soon as his master got back from his duel with that so called Leader of the Light, the real work could commence. Speaking of which, it was getting a little late. They had been confident that he could destroy Dumbledore and get back in time to observe the end of the summons. Oh, well. He'd just inform him of the success as soon as he got back-

His train of thought was interrupted by a panicked underling.

"Sir! We need to evacuate immediately!"

He must've heard wrong.

"What?" he snapped angrily. "The ritual is done, the demon is sealed and bound. It's not doing anything!"

The unlucky subordinate's eyebrows furrowed for a moment, trying to figure out what he was talking about, before obviously reaching a decision.

"I don't know about what you're doing in this division sir, but word just came in on the duel between Lord Grindelwald and Dumbledore! Dumbledore somehow won! They're speculating that he cheated, but-"

The rest of the man's sentence was cut off as he was violently thrown back by a furious hex. The chief enforcer was a combination of scared and disbelieving, and hiding it behind a mask of fury.

"WE LOST?"

The battered man looked like he was about to cry. Or piss himself. Maybe both. Either way, it made his tormentor feel better, which probably saved his life in that moment. The enraged now-commander of Grindelwald's army frowned.

"Never mind. Inform the rest of the men. We need to get out and regroup for a counterassault before those damned Order fighters show themselves. No doubt that they'll be cocky after this, and we aren't prepared for a full assault-"

The rest of his sentence was cut off as he was violently blasted over the railing he had been just moments before been leaning on. If he had been the superstitious type, he would've blamed karma for cutting him off midsentence the same way as he did to just moments before. But he wasn't, so no such thoughts crossed his mind as he slumped limply to the ground.

* * *

Edward had no clue what was going on. At all. He'd been tossed unceremoniously out of the Gate, into what looked suspiciously like a transmutation circle. Now he was lying on his side in a red liquid he doubted was ketchup. And he couldn't move. That was the key point that made him decision he wasn't in friendly hands. He watched as the men in dresses scurried around, apparently obeying the man watching from the balcony above. They all tossed him looks bordering on fear. Damn right they should be scared of him. Now only if he could get free…

Then, something happened. An explosion, flashes of multicolored light and the overseer was hurled across the room, straight onto the edge of the circle, his body smudging a few symbols. Suddenly, Ed's limbs sprang to life. He sat up, wiping the blood off his face, and tried to step out of the circle before it exploded or something.

A translucent blue wall sprang to life and he bounced back. Apparently he wasn't completely free yet. Ed sat back down, and waited for something to happen. Maybe someone else would break the circle, and he could escape for good.

* * *

Dumbledore led the charge through the bunker, blasting and incapacitating all the minions in his path, two Order members shielding him on either side. While on the inside, he was still broken and hurt at what he'd had to do to his former friend Gellert, it had been a long time in coming, and he needed to be strong while the threat still lasted. And so here he was, fighting his way down into a base where the second in command was rumored to be leading a secret operation. He reached a door, heavily guarded. No matter. A few flicks of his new Elder Wand and they were all out for the count, ready to be picked up by the Aurors trailing behind him. He raised the wand and pointed it directly at the heavily warded steel door.

"Bombarda Maxima!"

It blasted off its hinges, and the wizards and witches behind him filled the gaping hole with spellfire. He held up a hand to stop them, and stepped into the chamber.

It was enormous, and probably the site of the 'secret project'. In the center, there was a massive circle, covered in blood.

A man in the uniform of Gellert's army whimpered and passed out not five feet away from him. Dumbledore looked over at him in bemusement. He looked like he had been crying, and had a suspicious wet stain on the front of his robes. He hadn't even noticed the man. Now he looked back to the rune circle before him. Lying near the edge was the unmistakable figure of the missing second in command. He looked like he'd been caught in the explosion that had torn the door apart. And then, not five feet away from the prone figure, was another person, soaked in blood, and staring up at him with piercing golden eyes.

**So there's that. Hoped you liked it. The next chapter ****will**** take forever to write, even if I've got the plot for the first few vaguely in my head. Read 'n' Review and all that stuff!**

**-Ambiguity**


	2. Demon

**Wow. You people rock. Almost 200 views, and 12 reviews.**

**Okay, so the review count isn't that impressive, but you guys can fix that.**

**Anyway, onto less selfish matters, I have gotten a few questions as to the 50-something-year-before-acutal-canon-timeline. Rest assured, I am nowhere near confident enough to write something completely different like that. There is liberal use of the Time Skip. As will be seen next chapter. Sorry for all of you who were rooting for something else, maybe later. Or if I get bored. Now, since I've wasted enough of your time…**

**On with the story!**

Albus Dumbledore took a few seconds to rip his gaze away from the man's eyes. Almost immediately as he did so, he began to mentally calculate the odds that he had been using some form of Legilimency on him. Doubtful, but possible.

The man, still standing in the circle, began to speak.

And absolute gibberish came out. It was nothing like any language or dialect Dumbledore had heard before. And if it was a language, odds are he would know it. He had learned several human languages, as well as Gobbledegook, and was starting to pick up Mermish. This was intriguing.

A tired but satisfied looking wizard approached him, pulling him away from his musings. Dumbledore vaguely recognized him as a new Order recruit. Ah! That was it! Young Barnabas Longbottom!

"Sir, we've got the main floors cleared, and most of the enemy have surrendered," he stated. "But there's something that the others found that has them in a fuss.. They wanted to talk to you as soon as possible."

Dumbledore sighed.

"Very well, I shall be there shortly." He'd have to leave this particular mystery for later.

* * *

Edward watched the two men converse. It didn't take a genius to figure out something weird was going on right now. First of all, nobody could understand him, even if he could somehow get what they said. He chalked that one up to the knowledge from the Gate. Knowledge enough to understand, but no skill to speak it.

Second was the strange clothes. Other world or not, he was sure that dresses couldn't be the standard clothing for men. That left either crazy people or cultists. Seeing as there were way too many of them for them all to be crazy, which left cultists, which was its own brand of crazy.

Finally were the weird lights. He'd seen them flashing through the dust after the blast, and was sure that none of the men had drawn a circle. They seemed to be using _sticks_ of all things instead. New world, new rules, etc. He just wished he could've been dropped somewhere else than a battle zone.

He looked up as one of the men seemed to end a conversation.

"Very well, I shall be there shortly." He then twisted and disappeared –_disappeared!_ \- with a loud cracking sound.

"**Wow. I haven't been around very long, but judging by the state of your mind right now, that isn't something that happens on a regular basis."**

Edward was brought back to the present with the reminder of his guest. He began to animatedly explain exactly what he thought of Pride's blunt assessment.

"On a regular basis? A REGULAR BASIS?! That man just _vanished!_ I'm assuming by his conversation that he was traveling, but that shouldn't be possible! Did he just deconstruct himself, or travel too fast for the eye to follow? If he did the first, wouldn't that count as human transmutation? And how would he reconstruct himself again? But if he traveled super-fast, then he wouldn't be able to react fast enough to turn, and he'd end up as a grease mark on some wall. Not to mention friction and wind resistance! I need some paper!"

* * *

His rant was watched in fear by the man who had just delivered the message. To every other observer in the room, the strange golden man was ranting to himself in the middle of the circle. As he was still covered in blood, and ignoring the several wands trained on him, he cut a very intimidating figure. Finally, one of the braver wizards spoke up.

"Stupefy!"

The red jet flew across the space between wand and man. A few seconds before impact and unconsciousness, the man _changed._

His body didn't change. His face was still round, his height was the same, and his blonde hair was still in that silly looking braid. But everything subtly shifted, transforming him into a completely different figure. He straightened up, his stance now suitable for that of a king, or at least a great leader. The cast of his face altered, making him less angry and more coldly furious. And then, as he sidestepped the now-forgotten spell, everyone noticed the only physical change to his being.

His eyes were a deep, malicious shade of violet.

Pride had noticed the attack before Ed. This wasn't saying much, seeing as how the alchemist had worked himself into a frenzy. But he had also reacted faster.

Pride had pushed Ed into his mind to work on his theories, and come out, taken control, to save himself from the assault. Honestly, the kid might not even know the difference, as wrapped up as he was with Truth-knows-what.

And so he had sidestepped the bolt of light, and sent a lance of inky black shadows back at the offending man, who for some reason looked very regretful of his previous actions. Then, feet away from a bloody death, the man was saved by the same barrier that had stopped Edward from leaving the circle earlier. As it was, Pride had made his point. And the man who he'd nearly scared to death had fallen back on his backside in a puddle of blood. Hilarious.

Of course, now, every person in the room had a stick pointed directly at him. Sticks which, he now knew, can and would cause him bodily harm. Oh, and Elric had finally noticed who was in charge.

"**Hey! Let me out! I never gave you permission to steal my body! I swear, I'm gonna kick your ass when I finally get out of here!"**

Despite the dire circumstances, Pride couldn't help but quip back. It was too good.

"Oh, really? How were you going to dodge that one? Were you going to shout it away? Because that's the only thing I saw you doing."

Silence.

"And how would you even hurt me anyway?" he mused. "I share a body with you. If you beat yourself up, I'd be sitting back and enjoying the show."

"…**Shut up."** And with that, Pride started laughing.

* * *

Dumbledore didn't know what to make of the various papers scattered before him. Wards that looked like their sole intent was to sap the power of the occupants, Magical constructs that looked like they were meant to be bound to a person, and strangest of all, millions upon millions of rune circles.

Half of these projects didn't even make sense. If you bound a wizard to any sort of useful ward or enchantment, they wouldn't last a week. The large-scale projects these men were considering would practically immolate a wizard in seconds. It would take a superhuman to power these for a _day._ Then, one of the others in the room found something.

"Ha! Here are their research logs!" he exclaimed. "Look here- _Month 7, Day 23. Today we finished the schematics for the last of the wards. It'll be worth it when the pay for this finally comes in. I heard we'd be living like kings after we won the war…_ Blah, blah blah. Then he goes on to describe the final details, and what his buddies are up to. _"Larius and his team have gotten about halfway through the summoning array. Glad I don't have that job, looks like a pain to draw. I know one thing, though. I don't want to be anywhere near there when they actually summon this thing. Apparently, it's going to be some demon that would kill us all if they messed this up. Here's hoping they don't. This is the best assignment I've gotten for the whole war."_

The man trailed off as Dumbledore flew out of the room. He was halfway up the stairs before common sense got to him, and he Apparated back to the main chamber. The one with the runic circle, and the man with the golden eyes.

As soon as he got there, someone ran up to him.

"Dumbledore, sir! Something's wrong! The thing in the circle started yelling, so Jenkins threw a stunner at it. Then _it_ changed, and threw some kind of Dark spell back at him! The circle seems to have him contained, but they're all panicking in there, and it's just standing there _laughing_!"

Dumbledore sighed. He walked past the panicking Auror, into the room, and looked down into the circle. Sure enough, the man-no, demon- was still in the circle. And just like reported, it was laughing. As if it had heard the funniest joke in years. Dumbledore tried one last attempt to communicate.

"Can you understand me? I apologize for Auror Jenkins' actions, he was out of line. Please tell us what you want." The laughing stopped as the being looked up at him.

It obviously got the gist of what he had said, but didn't seem to feel like communicating in any known language. Dumbledore sighed. Nothing for it. None of the notes seemed to say anything about getting _rid _of a demon. They hadn't even considered the event. It seemed they just wanted it here to stay. Which left killing it, or hiding it away.

Killing a demon was certainly not going to be easy, even if it was confined. Destructive spellfire could destroy more of the runes, and then who knew what could happen. Also, he was reluctant to take another life, even if it was that of a demon's. Hiding it, binding it… That was much more appealing. And less morally reprehensible.

* * *

Pride watched uneasily as the man-Dumbledore-sighed again and raised his arm. The arm with the stick. Instantly, he was on guard. Those were the weapons, he'd learned, and he was cornered and limited in dodging room. Then, the Dumbledore man spoke.

"On my mark!"

Shit.

"STUPEFY!" The cry rang out from every corner of the room at once, and Pride had nowhere to go. He was caught, transfixed for a moment as many of the red jets found their target. Then he was forced back into the cage of his host's mind, and Edward was free again, only to be bound up with ropes, immobilized, and pulled up into the air.

His last sight was the regretful face of Dumbledore before the final spell was spoken.

"Somnus."

* * *

As that last word was spoken, Dumbledore lowered the Elder Wand.

"Clear out the runes," he commanded. "We need to move it before it wakes up."

The markings in question were eradicated in moments as wizards eager to see the demon gone vanished the last remnants of the experiment. Dumbledore took a moment to marvel at how they all jumped to his word. He wasn't even technically in charge of this mission. Just here as the leader of the Order, to assist the actual Auror force. And yet they all obeyed him without question. Amazing what stopping a Dark Lord could do for you.

He retrieved his train of thought once more before he had to dwell to much on it, and spoke up again.

"I shall take charge of the disposal of the demon. Any protests?"

The head of the DMLE, an unpleasant, overbearing man, shoved his way forward.

"Yes, Albus. There is a problem. This is a demon we're talking about. As in summoned from another plane of existence, class XXXXX, first-time-we've-seen-one-since-Merlin DEMON. It needs to be taken to the ministry, where we can hand it off the Department of Mysteries-"

"So they can poke it and prod it and keep the class quintuple-X being directly underneath the rest of the Ministry?" Dumbledore interrupted with a twinkle in his eyes. He'd been practicing it, and hoped to get it down by the time he was old enough to fit the whole grandfather image. He continued.

"I do hope you are aware that the Unknown Entities Sector of the Department sits a few hundred meters from the entrance to the Auror's Offices," he said. The look on the Head Auror's face clearly showed he was not aware of that fact.

"Meanwhile, I happen to have a way to resolve this quickly. We put the demon" -here he gestured to the being, which was still slumbering peacefully in midair- "somewhere where nobody will ever find it, and nobody will ever release it. I have the perfect idea where."

The odious bureaucrat backed off.

"Fine. Just don't blame me if this goes pear-shaped. I have enough on my doorstep, what with the massive headache cleaning up after the war's going to be."

Dumbledore twinkled some more.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

The Mirror of Erised had a long and convoluted history. It had changed hands many times over the course of its existence, due to its owners repeatedly forgetting to eat in favor of staring into their dreams made reality. This happened as often as a buyer realizing how bad it was for their general wellbeing, and passed it off to some other fool. As it was, the Mirror's origins were long forgotten, obscured by the mists of time. Its current owner, however, had a different use for it.

Dumbledore had long ago realized what a useful hiding place the Mirror was. All he had to do was turn the area behind the glass into a pocket dimension, charm the glass itself to be immaterial for a little while, and presto! It was a treasure chest that couldn't be looted unless one knew exactly what they were looking for, and would trap all the rest in an endless loop of daydreams until he came and found them. Of course, he very rarely needed to resort to such drastic measures, but this was one of the exceptions.

He now stood before the Mirror, not looking directly at it for fear of what he could see. The still-prone form of the demon floated behind him, thanks to numerous reapplications of Sleeping Charms. Now all he had to do was put the demon inside, and that was that. Anyone wanting to remove it would then have to desire setting an unimaginably powerful entity on themselves above all else. Foolproof.

He tapped the glass with his wand, uttering a long and complex Transfiguration spell. It shimmered, then became opaque. A few flicks of his wand was all it took to send the demon through, and then a few more taps and it was done. Sealed away. If only dealing with Gellert had been so easy.

**And so Ed and Pride are locked away for the rest of eternity. The end.**

**Yeah, no.**

**In response to a few choice reviews:**

**This fic is based off of the manga, where Ed originally successfully trades with Truth and goes home. This obviously doesn't happen here, but that is the version of FMA I used for this story.**

**Yes, Pride is different. Like it, hate it, I don't care. In my mind, he's basically a new person than the old Pride, as that one didn't make it. He is a reflection of Edward's own personality, which is basically a self-confident smart ass without any of those pesky morals that hold his host back.**

**This is, in fact, my first story. It sounds a lot like others because I took my favorite bits from other stories and added them all up, then threw in my own plot. I am heavily influenced by certain stories, including but not limited to Amaranthine, by Gift of the Dragons, and others that I read but can't remember right now.**

**Anyway, as this AN is getting longer than some of the scenes, bye for now!**

**-Ambiguity**


	3. Inside, looking outwards

**So… how 'bout these updates? Told you people I wasn't going to be on any sort of schedule. Hoping none of you hate me right now. I have a very good excuse, though.**

**Life.**

**No, seriously. Track is a major time-suck and my various school-related projects have diverted my attention. I know I shouldn't be blaming it all on other stuff, though. I did maybe procrastinate just a little bit.**

**This is a less suspenseful chapter. More of a transition into the canon timeline. Lhurgoyf was killing me over how my original chapter 3 was way shorter, so here's a longer chapter, kind of my burst of creativity for the week. And with that…**

**On with the story!**

When Edward woke up, it was dark. Everywhere. He was sitting in a black room, where the only thing he could see was himself. What he wouldn't give for a light right now…

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the darkness leapt back. The room holding him was bare, with no furnishings or decoration. The walls, floor and ceiling were all perfectly smooth, without an imperfection anywhere. And on the wall facing him was a window. It was a single sheet of glass, starting off wide at the base, then tapering into a pointed arch at the top. Outside was dark, showing nothing more than what looked like the inside of a cave, with a bolted and barred door on the far end.

"**Yes, yes. Very interesting. Now how about we get out of here, and get on with the whole 'imbalance' thing Truth wanted us to fix, hm?"**

Despite how annoying it was to admit, Pride was right. But as Ed examined the window, he found no evidence of a latch or handle. It seemed to be one solid piece, fused seamlessly into the material of the wall. How was he going to get out if he couldn't open the-

"**Do I seriously have to do the thinking for both of us? You're supposed to be smart, so figure this one out. Metal arm. Metal leg. GLASS barrier."**

Ed was about to retort angrily when he realized the point Pride was trying to make. Feeling stupid, he backed up, and took a good look at the window. Then, gathering himself, he charged forwards, springing into what would have been a glorious leap through a spray of shattered glass.

That is, if he hadn't bounced off with a dull _thunk_, landing on his back, and wondering what happened. Not to be discouraged, Ed got up again, standing in front of the obviously strong window, examining where he guessed he had struck. The glass was as flawless as before. He took a half step back, and then swung his automail fist forwards, throwing his entire weight into the punch.

_Clang_!

Aside from a ringing hand and what looked to be a dented index joint, nothing changed. No marks on the glass, no progress. Edward frowned. It was obviously something more than just a window. In the back of his head, he wondered how he'd gotten in this room in the first place, with no visible entry. He had only one resort now, and he didn't need some stupid Homunculus to remind him. For the third time, he stepped forwards. Ed clapped his hands, circle formed in his mind, and slammed them against the barrier. And proceeded to get nothing. No alchemic feedback whatsoever. It was as if the window, which he had proven without a doubt existed, just wasn't there. Or if it was, it wasn't made of anything.

It was, in a word, impossible.

The next two hours (by Edward's estimate. There was no actual way to measure the time) were spent examining every inch of the room. An alchemic breakdown was attempted on every square foot of surface, even the ceiling. That took some impressive acrobatics, but he managed it. And for all his efforts, he received the same response as with the damn window. Nothing.

Edward was starting to question his own sanity. How could he be trapped in a room made of _nothing_? It was physically impossible! And how had he not suffocated yet? There were no gaps in the walls, and he was sure he'd used up the oxygen that could've been in the room long ago. Defeated, he sat down on the floor. Pride chose this moment to speak up again.

"**Well, as entertaining as that was, what are you going to do now?"**

"Shut up. We're trapped in an unbreakable nonexistent box. There's nothing I _can_ do until someone lets me out. Which I doubt will happen, given your little display."

"**Oh, so now it's my fault we're in here?" **Pride actually sounded offended. **"I was defending us. That moron attacked us, and so I retaliated. Simple as that."**

Ed decided it was better to quit. Pride wasn't going to concede anything (even though it was totally his fault) and he didn't feel like arguing. He was just so bored, though. If only he had something to read-

And just like with the light, as soon as the thought formed, he was sitting in a library. It looked suspiciously like Central's branch, if not for the fact that instead of the front door, there was just the same goddamn mirror.

"**Whoa. Did you just make that happen? Because that was cool. Wish for some money next. Or some girls. We could use some company…"** Pride trailed off suggestively.

"Don't be stupid." Ed snapped. "There's no way the room's responding to what I want, telepathy's impossible. And what would we even do with money? We're _trapped in a box._"

"**It's the principle of the thing. Wouldn't you rather be trapped in a room with a pile of gold than trapped with no pile of gold?"**

Ed opened his mouth to respond. And then closed it again. That was actually a really good point.

"I wish for a large pile of gold."

Said pile sprang into existence, crushing the table it appeared on under its weight. Ed grinned as his mood instantly improved. Large piles of gold were obviously highly therapeutic. And fun to look at.

"I also wish for new clothes, or my old ones to be cleaned. And for my automail to be repaired."

All of these things happened. Then, as Ed was admiring how nice his new trench coat was, another idea came to him. It was so simple he almost could have laughed.

"I wish for Pride to be removed from me, to be created into a separate entity."

He closed his eyes and braced for… something to happen. Honestly, he had no idea what to expect. After a minute, he cracked open an eyelid. And then Pride pointed out the obvious.

"**I don't think that one worked,"** he said in a deadpan tone. Of course. Because it couldn't be _that_ easy.

Ed shrugged.

"Was worth a shot," he replied. "At least now we know there are limits, which means there are rules. Any other things we want?"

Pride was quick to respond.

"**How about a way out? Would be nice."**

Ed voiced the sentiment to the room. Nothing. He sighed. Well, that confirmed one thing. He was in a prison. A really cool, wish-within-reason-granting prison, but still a prison. He turned towards the books. At least there was always research.

It had been years since he'd first woken up in this room. (At least it felt that way. He had no way of tracking time, and he didn't even have a sleep cycle anymore. Homunculi, he'd found, didn't sleep.) In some ways, he'd made lots of progress. He and Pride had come to a mutual agreement, which hopefully would keep the Homunculus in his mind unless it felt like it needed to come out. He'd fully discovered the mysterious properties of his cage (What else could he call it?). Food was not available (good thing he didn't need to eat) and neither, much to Pride's disappointment, were girls. Living things in general weren't possible, but he could get animated mannequins to spar with. He couldn't demand anything unreasonable like a way out or a portal back home or a way to communicate with Al. He'd have killed for that last one, didn't even have to be his brother. What he'd give for even an argument with the Colonel…

Best not to sink to those depths.

But he was so _bored._ Practically nobody ever came to look at him, and those who did obviously saw something else. His room had been moved several times (he had no clue how, it was goddamn _enormous_) but it always ended up with the same scenery. Staring out the sole window at a dull, blank, usually stone wall.

There was nothing to do. At all. He couldn't practice alchemy, as everything the room produced was made of nothing, and therefore untransmutable. They _looked_ like books, they _felt _like practice dummies, and he'd been repeatedly reminded that the walls were _very_ solid, but none of it was real. It was all an illusion. He had no idea how such an effect was produced, but it was there, and that was what mattered in the end.

His boredom was such that he would give almost anything to be let out. Pride took great pleasure in comparing him to a genie, and he couldn't deny the parallels. But as the time wore on, he never forgot that he was here for a reason.

Fix the imbalance.

Whatever that was.

* * *

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, owner of far too many honorary and cumbersome titles, looked down at the innocent red stone he held in his palm. According to Nicolas, the Stone would be useless to anybody but a master alchemist, but neither of them were willing to place all their money on that particular wager.

Especially when the lives of so many were on the line.

So Albus had come to his long-time associate and asked to hide it. After all, who would suspect anyone of putting such a dangerous artifact in a school of all places? Dumbledore smiled grimly. The trap would be set, and the bait was irresistible. All there was left to do was hide it away.

A few taps, a muttered and by now memorized spell, and the arguably most powerful magical artifact to be created in the last five centuries was stowed inside a heavily enchanted mirror.

Caught up in the cleverness of his own plan, Albus failed to remember several things, the most important of which was staring at the retreating wizard's back through a one-sided mirror.

* * *

It was Pride who spoke up first.

"**Was it just me, or did he just drop a Stone through the glass?"**

Ed blinked twice, then did a mental face-palm.

"We could have broken out! Right then! The glass was gone, and the only one around was the grandpa! _I WAS ALMOST FREE!_" He ended his escalating outburst with a shattering punch at a conveniently appearing dummy, whose face was reduced to splinters.

Pride, however, was less emotional.

"**There was a chance, we missed it. I have no doubt there'll be others. Right now, let's focus on the Philosopher's Stone that seems to have been thrown in here with us."**

Finding Pride's argument to be sound, Edward calmed down. If the interminable wait had taught Edward nothing else, it was patience. He took a step forwards and picked up the innocent red gem. No doubt about it. This was the real thing. The only question was, what was he going to _do _with it?

"**Eat it, of course."** The matter-of-fact way Pride had spoken would have sounded better fitting if he had been holding an apple, and not the most alchemically powerful object in the world. Needless to say, Edward had a few objections.

"EAT IT?" he repeated, shocked. "Those are people's _souls!_ I can't just-"

Pride cut him off.

"**Look, souls or not, they're stuck in there. Permanently. Now, there are two ways they can spend the rest of eternity. Either they can continue to be stuck in the little rock, or they can be stuck in **_**us,**_** and actually be doing something useful, like keeping us alive. Face it. You can't save them, and they're more use to us if you eat the damn thing than if you keep angsting about those stupid morals things."**

Yet again, Edward was struck speechless. From a completely heartless, calculating point of view, Pride actually made sense. And there really was no way to save the souls. He shrugged. Apparently, spending an extended amount of time in solitary with a psychopathic second personality had an impact on him. Who would've guessed?

He opened his mouth and popped the stone inside. It tasted surprisingly good, like some sort of delicious candy. As soon as he swallowed the thing, he felt an enormous rush of energy. It was comparable to the time Havoc had given him a concentrated espresso, in double the normal dosage. He'd torn the office apart working off his energy, but it had felt freaking amazing while it had lasted.

"**Hm... This is new." **Pride sounded puzzled.

Ed frowned.

"What? I ate the damn stone just like you wanted. Now you're saying something's wrong?"

"**No, not wrong at all. Pretty good, from your standpoint. It'll appease that thing you call a conscience to know that somehow, there were no souls in that Stone. Just pure energy."**

Ed's eyebrows furrowed.

"That can't be right. The souls are essential to keep the energy in the Stone bonded. Without them, it doesn't stay together and the whole thing goes up. It was in Marcoh's notes." He started to pace, a habit he'd picked up during his time in confinement.

"The only way that the Stone can be kept stable is with the souls, and since it had no souls, that means someone found a substitute to bind the energy…" He trailed off as he realized what that meant. The Stone could be created without mass sacrifice, which meant it was probably not a secret here. Everyone and their dog probably had their hands on one.

"Explains several things, including the lack of Equivalency. I bet that they just stored their Stones in those sticks of theirs, and use that like some kind of long-range alchemy."

He frowned. Things just got a whole lot more complicated.

* * *

It wasn't long before the old man returned. Ed leapt up, standing just next to the window, out of sight. Ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. After a few minutes of nothing, he chanced a peek outside. They were moving. Down a hallway, up a staircase, past a few portraits (were they _moving?_) and suits of armor that looked decidedly less intimidating than Al, and his prison was in another room. A classroom.

Dear Truth, was he in a school?

The old man, his job finished, sat down in a corner of the room, tapped his forehead with his stick, and promptly vanished. Edward, long used to such tricks, was unfazed. He'd seen weirder than that, by some truly desperate men who'd seen something when they looked into his prison that obviously wasn't him.

A few hours later, and someone else appeared in the room. A boy, who didn't look older than nine. A very scrawny nine year old at that. He mouthed two words that, even though Ed couldn't hear, struck him to his core. Asking for his parents. Combined with the reverent, almost euphoric expression on his face, Edward wondered if the kid missed his home that much.

"**Or maybe he just doesn't have one." **Pride's unusually deep comment was a little shocking. That could be the case, after all. The boy turned, obviously startled by something outside the room, before looking back for one last glimpse. A few words that were obviously a promise to return, and he disappeared again. The old man reappeared a minute later, with a look mingling between regret and satisfaction, and left in a hurry.

Well. That was weird.

The routine was performed the next night, too. The old man came in, and promptly hid himself. Why he didn't have something better to do than watch little boys was beyond both Pride and his host. The boy appeared again, just like last night.

No, he'd brought someone with him. A gangly redhead who stood back as the smaller child rapidly spoke to him, pointing repeatedly at Ed's window. Obviously ginger didn't get the point, as he furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head. Scrawny took a step back, motioning for Ginger to step in front. And suddenly, the boy's face changed, looking similar to all those Ed had watched before. His eyes held awe, and no small trace of greed as he slowly spoke to his friend. Apparently unsatisfied, Scrawny tried to take his place back in front of Ed, but ginger pushed back. This probably would have devolved into an embarrassing and undignified catfight had they not been startled by something in the hallway, as with last night. Gathering something up off the ground, they threw it over themselves, and vanished.

And again, as with last night, the old man reappeared, looking satisfied as he made his way out of the classroom.

The third night was different. Edward could tell. For one, the old man didn't bother vanishing. He sat comfortably in one of the various desks around the room, obviously waiting for Scrawny and Ginger. And sure enough, the former showed up, minus one carrot top. Hm.

As the boy began to gaze at the window, the old man spoke up behind him. Ed got a great laugh out of the look of sheer panic on his face as he spun around. It was classic, and his standards for entertainment had slipped as his boredom had risen. After a brief conversation, in which creepy old stalker man seemed to play the generous grandfather, Scrawny was sent back to bed. Then, the old man, for the first time since Ed had seen him, looked directly into the glass. Edward knew nobody saw him, but it was unnerving, the way the man gazed almost right at him. And then he noticed the strangest part about the whole scenario. Unlike the greed or awe of all the other viewers Ed had encountered, this man was different.

He was crying.

**And so the plot actually begins! I know it was kinda predictable (who am I kidding, everyone knew it from the moment they saw 'Mirror of Erised') but hey, new chapter! As for how the mechanics of the Mirror- I figured that being stuck ****inside**** a mirror that showed you whatever you wanted would have the same effects as being in the Room of Requirement. It makes sense if you squint real hard and have brainstorming sessions at 9 pm. Nobody can see Ed because their deepest desire isn't to retrieve a Homunculus from the Mirror (see chapter 2).**

**In response to your reviews:**

**No, I can't see Truth sending anyone else. Yet. Haven't made up my mind either way, but I'm not sending a ton of friends over to Harry Potter world. It just doesn't work in my mind. If anybody made it over, it would be Mustang. Or Alphonse. But seriously. Who else would have the alchemic know-how and the drive to get Edward back?**

**I really got poked up out of my procrastination by reviews asking me to update soon. Yes. To all of you out there who doubt that your reviews are read, I look at ALL of them. And take them to heart. I'm kind of attached to my writing like that. That little vindication given, goodbye until next time!**

**-Ambiguity**


	4. Escape and a Duel

**Wow. Now that I've neared the 10K words mark, it seems a lot of you have gotten serious. Some of these reviews are amazing. It feels great that you all like this story enough to care about plot holes and stuff. As such, I've decided to work on this chapter much earlier, and reward you all for your enthusiasm. While I don't agree with the practice of holding stories hostage for reviews, I am motivated to write more by your reviews, and will not deny that there is a direct relationship between how many reviews I get and how much I care about writing the next chapter. **

**Enough of my blatant begging.**

**On with the story!**

Albus Dumbledore turned quickly away from the Mirror, silently cursing his stupidity. It was one thing to dream, but another to have said dream shoved back into his face, mocking him for what he could never accomplish. It was a moment of weakness that made him look, nothing else. He'd have to be more careful in the future. Now, where was he?

Ah, yes. Moving the Mirror of Erised down to the Third Floor Corridor. A call for Fawkes, a flash of phoenix fire, and one more thing was crossed off his to-do list. Now if only he could get rid of the niggling doubt in the back of his head, telling him he'd forgotten something. Oh well. Lemon drops could calm his soul, and soothe his worries.

* * *

Edward blinked, momentarily blinded by the burst of light outside his cell. It had looked like the entire room was on fire, but that wasn't right. Old Man was still standing there when he'd disappeared, and not panicking. Must be another illusion. A trick, like making yourself invisible. Instant transportation. That was a problem for another time.

This new room was-surprise!- stone. It was completely bare, except for the doorway on the opposite wall, which seemed to be filled with black fire. Edward shrugged off his new surroundings and turned back to his most recent book- a dictionary of the English language. He felt he might be needing it.

* * *

It was a few months later that Edward had another visitor. The man was thin, wore a turban of all things, and very pale, as if he'd been permanently scarred by some horror. But his eyes shone with the same greed as all the others.

Then something happened that Ed had never expected. The pale man, instead of staring straight ahead, turned and looked directly at him. It was almost as if he could see him. The man turned to the glass, pulled out his stick, and muttered some long string of words. He obviously didn't get the result he was expecting, as he stepped back with a frustrated look on his face. He swiped his stick, and a jet of purplish-black light issued forth, before impacting the glass. It, too, had no effect.

Edward was having a great time watching the man expend himself trying to break the glass. He knew the effort was futile, and so took great pleasure in visually mocking the man whenever his latest attempt failed. It started off with a small grin here, a snicker there. As he noticed the anger becoming evident on the man's face, he began to blatantly insult him, with hand gestures and facial expressions universally insulting, no matter where in the multiverse one comes from. Pride helped him, offering suggestions whenever his imagination began to run out. All in all, it was the most fun he'd had in years, and in the back of his mind, he hoped to infuriate the man to the point where he actually did break the glass, if such a thing were possible.

But for now, he'd settle for laughing maniacally as the man in the turban went for another round.

* * *

Harry Potter was not as brave as everyone liked to think. While he was no Ravenclaw, he wasn't about to charge into a room where a Dark Wizard was lying in wait. And so he stepped lightly through the black flames, ready to duck and roll at the first sign of a spell.

As he exited the fire, he could have been at a dead run for all the attention he attracted. The figure in the middle of the room was standing in front of what seemed to be the Mirror of Erised _(So that's where it went) _and trying his best to blast it to smithereens. As Harry examined the scene closer, though, he realized that the man in front of him was most definitely not Snape.

His gasp was timed, according to his luck, with one of the breaks Quirrel took in trying to blast apart the glass, and as such he was heard quite clearly. Quirrel, belying his previous air of incompetence, whipped around and fired off an _Incarcerous_ before Harry could blink. As he had learned nothing of shielding all year, the poor boy could do nothing but be bound up and lie before his captor.

Quirrel started off into a diabolic speech, waxing eloquent about how evil and clever he was, how perfect his cover, and on and on. Harry tuned him out for most of it, having heard much of the same thing when listening in on Dudley while his fat cousin watched the telly. He did, however, pick up some important bits, such as

A- Voldemort wasn't quite dead yet

B- Snape was actually a good guy, and

C- Quirrel was having a bit of trouble getting at the Stone.

These facts, when presented in megalomaniac speech form, took about ten minutes to communicate. In his boredom, Harry twisted his neck, trying to see into the Mirror where Dumbledore had supposedly hidden the Stone.

True desire is a funny thing. While the specifications on removal that Dumbledore put into the Stone's sealing said that one couldn't want to actually use the Stone, they said nothing about beings who had incorporated the Stone. And desire being such a malleable, transient thing, changing so often, what Harry saw while bound and helpless was not him hiding the Stone. No, he was quite sure that if Quirrel hadn't gotten to it yet, it was quite safe. The only thing young Harry wanted was for somebody to come get him out of this mess.

The Mirror happily, if such a word can be applied to an artifact, obliged.

* * *

Edward was watching the scene before him with not a little mounting concern. He had no idea why Scrawny had shown up, but by the fact he had been bound up and was being spoken at by the other man with anger issues, he was guessing that mortal peril was on the menu. Then he saw the boy twist, and stare right at the glass.

For the first time, the room shifted without Ed's intending it to. The chair he had been taunting turban man from heaved, and threw him directly at the painfully indestructible window. Right before the imminent, head-bashing impact, the glass shimmered and disappeared.

And that is how Edward Elric, after over fifty years of imprisonment in the Mirror of Erised, tumbled out of the glass face first in an undignified heap.

* * *

Dumbledore sighed as he entered the main ICW chamber. Politics were, while he was good at it, very tedious at times. He silently hoped that the meeting would end quickly so he could get back to running his school. He settled into his chair, bracing himself for hours of politicking and posturing.

"Albus!"

He turned to see his friend, the German Minister of Magic, striding towards him. At least he'd have a decent conversation.

"How are you doing, my friend?" Albus inquired. The serious man brightened briefly.

"Oh, very good. Those blasted reparations from Grindelwald's war are almost completely paid off!" he replied. "Ten billion galleons, I ask you!"

Dumbledore smiled and nodded vaguely, knowing that the subject was still touchy with the German. Then he stopped smiling as his friend's words caused several memories to surface. Especially one memory in particular.

The normally dignified Supreme Mugwump leapt to his feet, and near-sprinted out of the room. The German Minister sat in his chair, internally sulking.

"_If he wanted to stop talking, he could have just said so._"

* * *

Harry watched as the strange man from the mirror slowly stood up, talking to himself in a language Harry couldn't quite make out. He started to walk towards Harry, straight past Quirrel, who seemed to be stunned and enraged, and was currently trying to form a word.

The golden man crouched next to Harry, and asked him a question in his not-quite understandable language.

"I'm sorry, I can't understand you," Harry apologized. "Can you speak English?"

The man immediately scowled.

"Only a little," he said in heavily accented English. "You are alright?"

Harry nodded. The man relaxed just a bit. He opened his mouth to respond, but then Quirrel reminded them both of his presence.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

The spell streaked across the small space between its caster and its target. Harry watched, horrified, as his rescuer managed a half-turn before being struck, and slumped forwards, clearly dead.

"You killed him…" Harry whispered. Honestly, he didn't know why he was so surprised. After all, the man had been trying to off him most of the year.

"Of course, you stupid boy. Now, with that little worm gone, how to get the Philosopher's Stone,,,"

The body of the once-dead man stirred. His shadow shifted, twisted, and rose up with him, showing countless violet eyes and mouths with far too many teeth. Harry suddenly experienced the same sort of feeling as when he had met Fluffy. This was the primal fear of prey in the face of a much more powerful predator. This, in front of him, was raw _power_.

"_And who," _the thing asked, _"Are you calling small, turban man?"_

Quirrel turned to face the new threat. Either the man was insanely stupid, or he just didn't get how dead he was.

"What in the Dark Lord's name are you?" he demanded. "I killed you! I saw you die! The Avada Kedavra is absolute!"

The shadowy being seemed to pause for a moment. Then it began to laugh.

"_Oh, but that's the best part, mortal,_ "it said. "_I did die. And it wasn't fun. And so now I'm going to return the favor and kill you. How's that sound, hm? Equivalent Exchange and all that."_

Lances of shadow shot out from the ground, tearing through Quirrel's hastily conjured shield like hot knives through an overused metaphor, and then Quirrel. His broken body was tossed to the side as the thing turned towards a still-bound Harry.

"_You alright, kid?"_

Harry distantly observed that it spoke with the same accent that it had before. He was snapped out of his daze when the question was repeated.

"Yes, I'm fine sir," he replied quickly. Rule number one of living with the Dursleys: Always be polite to those in power.

"_Good._" And with that, shadows sliced away the ropes. As Harry stood slowly up, the shadows receded back towards their owner, and his eyes switched back to gold. Gold and violet eyes. How strange.

"Sorry about Pride," the man said. "He's a little…"

He trailed off, obviously describing the effect of having a murderous entity within five feet of you.

"Anyway," he began, "I'm Edward Elric. Mind telling me where I am?"

"Hogwarts," Harry said. "What was that?"

Edward grimaced.

"That was Pride. Think of him as my worse half." The tone of the man's voice clearly stated that line of conversation was over.

"Do you mind telling me what a Hogwarts is?" he asked, silently judging the name of anything called _Hogwarts_.

Harry was confused.

"How do you not know what Hogwarts is? It's the only Wizarding school in Britain."

Edward's eyebrows shot up.

"You've got to be kidding me," he said, disbelief obvious. "Wizards? As in magic? Which doesn't exist?"

Harry's response was cut off by a black mist rising from Quirrel's body, which then rushed out of the room, shrieking like Peeves and fast as the wind. Harry stared after the spirit, wondering if something should be done about it, before turning back to his newest friend.

"Of course, magic. How else do you make shadows move? Headmaster Dumbledore-"

His inquiry was cut off by Edward swearing very loudly and angrily in his own language.

"Dumbledore?" he asked, eyes wide and furious. Harry nodded, confused by the sudden change in demeanor. More swearing was to be heard, before Edward turned and rushed to the entry, where the black fire was still burning.

Only to be blasted backwards as Dumbledore swept through, wand drawn and eyes blazing. The wizened wizard leveled his weapon at the smoldering heap at the back of the wall. Harry felt like he was missing something.

"Sir, what's going on?"

Dumbledore spared him a glance before turning back to Ed, who had gotten dazedly back to his feet.

"So that's your game, demon?" he asked. "Using the desperate hopes of a child to escape your prison?"

Edward frowned, both hurt by the accusation of _using_ anybody and confused as to who the man in front of him was.

"Demon is a little harsh. If you want to insult me, at least do it right. And, I'm sorry if I missed something, but who are you again? I lose track of the people who want to kill me."

"He's Dumbledore," Harry supplied helpfully.

Ed grinned at the aged man. For once, he could see the perks of outliving everyone. In his moment of satisfaction, he decided to torment his former jailer.

"So this is the man who put me in that damned prison. How's mortality treating you, gramps?"

With that remark, he clapped, and, handspringing away from a barrage of spells, slammed his palms on the stone floor. The room sprang to life, hands launching themselves at Dumbledore, shields popping up between him and his target.

Dumbledore countered the assault with ease, blasting the grasping fingers to shrapnel, and transfiguring fists into feathers. Shields were reduced to rubble under blasts of chain lighting, and Edward found himself once again dodging and running.

He clapped again, spreading his arms in front of him, and red lighting arced towards Dumbledore, who stopped his spell chain to conjure a shield. When nothing seemed to happen, he resumed his attack. Edward clapped, and sent a small spark into the enormous cloud of oxygen he had just transmuted.

An awe-inspiring gout of fire swallowed the wizard whole, along with half the room. Harry ducked for cover, all but forgotten as the battle raged. When Ed had finally blinked the last spots from his eyes, he immediately ducked and rolled to dodge a nasty-looking yellow jet of light, which sizzled against the wall behind him.

A wary standoff ensued, in which attacks were exchanged but no hits were scored. Just as suddenly as his last offensive had ended, Dumbledore launched into another attack sequence, this one mostly consisting of jets of flame and explosions, hoping that the wide-area damage would be harder to dodge. Edward resumed his ducking and blocking, until he found a pause in the chain. He clapped, and dropped to the floor, shielding himself behind a pile of rubble. Pressing his palms to the pile in front of him, he closed his eyes tight as the whole pile exploded into a cloud of very fine dust, which rapidly expanded to obscure the room.

Edward waited in the semi-gloom, grateful for his break. Suddenly, a gale of wind blasted a hole through the cloud, and revealed a wand directly in front of Edward's nose. He grinned.

"Well played, old man. Well played. I'll have to admit, you're even better than the Bastard was at this. I'd love to have a rematch sometime."

As he spoke, he surreptitiously touched his hands together behind his back, then pressed them against the wall. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. For such a vicious fighter, the demon was giving up far too easily. And so as the wall opened up in front of him to swallow his opponent, he launched one last _reducto_ before the being disappeared.

Dumbledore heaved a sigh, and stood, surveying what had once been a nearly empty room. There were half liquefied piles of rubble smoldering around the room, and every bit of floor that hadn't been warped or blasted was covered in an inch of the fine dust. The Mirror of Erised was in ruins, apparently having taken quite too much punishment in too short of a time. He supposed it was for the best. The artifact had been nothing but trouble. He turned towards a shell shocked Harry Potter.

"Come on, my boy," he said. "Let's get you to the hospital wing."

* * *

**And Edward is free to roam once more! Yes, Harry might seem a little bit OOC from the books. I call this poetic license. Edward only now recognizes Dumbledore because it has been fifty years. It's like re-meeting someone you met in high school after years. You don't make the recognition because they have changed. In the same way, Edward doesn't connect the strong, young leader Dumbledore to the creepy grandfather he's become. Yes, I get that learning English out of a dictionary is far-fetched. However, Ed learned Alchemy solely from his father's notes. This is an art that takes fully grown adults years to wrap their minds around. He did it when he was what- five? If he can do that, he can learn a language out of books. Get over it.**

**WARNING: The next bit is just clarifications for the questions I know you all will ask. If you're just an uncurious person who wants to get on with their life, feel free to skip the rest of the Author's note.**

**As for the Stone, I'm slightly altering its mechanics. Instead of using up souls to do philosopher's stone stuff, it uses the energy in the stone. The souls are just there to keep the otherwise volatile stone stable. Think of it like a battery. A highly powerful nuclear battery created through mass genocide. The effects of this will be made clear soon.**

**About Germany's reparations:**

**After WWI, Germany was forced to pay the Allies cash reparations for the damages it had caused, even though it wasn't even responsible for the war in the first place. These amounted to about 500 billion US dollars. If we apply the conversion to Galleons, we get a tidy 10 billion galleons using the handy (and sensible) conversion rate I found on Faery Heroes by Silently Watches. It makes much more sense than JK Rowling's estimate of 5 pounds per galleon. While this sum might seem unfair, it did to a whole lot of others, too. The reparations were one of the main reasons Germans were bitter enough to start a Second World War. History lessons aside, I figured that the magical world was going to be just as unforgiving as the Muggle one in terms of treaties.**

**In response to your reviews:**

**Ed himself can't control Pride's shadows. Pride and Ed take turns controlling Ed's body, which basically means that when anyone gets the drop on Ed, Pride comes out to play.**

**No, Ed won't be able to hide. At least, hide for long. After this, everyone's going to be on a demon hunt. Except for Harry. He isn't going to somehow sneak out of Hogwarts to hunt for what he's been told is an incredibly powerful evil demon. He's not stupid, if that hasn't been made clear.**

**And now that I've bored you all to death with my clarifications, I'll be bidding you all a very happy Easter! **

**-Ambiguity**


	5. The Hunt Begins

**Hi, everyone! New chapter! Yaaaaay!**

**A quick word before we begin, as this is something I want to clear up beforehand. At no point is there going to be a different text for somebody speaking Amestrian. You know the types, italics for this, bold for that, etc. If Ed is speaking Amestrian, it's going to be blindingly obvious. The only exception to the no-different-speak rule is Pride and Ed conversing in their head. (Head or heads? Not sure about that one.) As you have noticed, Pride when Ed is in control is in bold. Only Ed hears him. Same the other way around. That out of the way,**

**ON WITH THE STORY!  
**

* * *

Edward panted heavily as he crouched in the semi-gloom of his self-made cave. He barely had room to stand up, not that he was in any condition to. That last blast, the parting shot, had hit him. Dead center. He had discovered that being immortal did not spare one from the agony of having a hole punched through one's torso. Nor the pain of re-growing half his vitals. It was, on a scale of one to automail surgery, a solid eight.

Wait a second. That didn't make sense.

He shrugged, red sparks shining their last as his stomach became no longer see-through. That meager light source gone, the little hideaway was plunged into complete darkness. Pride, apparently occupied with healing them, decided to give commentary.

"**Why on earth did you **_**run away**_**?" **His voice, though mentally the same volume, had all the same force as if he was shouting. **"We **_**had**_** him, he was **_**right there,**_** and you chickened out! It's like you don't even want revenge!"**

Edward frowned deeply.

"It's not my fault. He would have blown us to bits," He paused a moment to glance down at his now much less messy torso. "Still did. And that was a lucky shot. If I had stayed, he could have caught us again. Stupid old man. Calling me a _demon._ It's like he's never heard of a Homunculus before!"

Pride was not to be distracted.

"**You still ran away."** It was a statement, albeit an angry one. Edward's eyebrows shot up as he realized what the sin really was getting at.

"Does retreating hurt your sense of _dignity_?" The question was asked with heavy disbelief. "You'd rather stay true to your 'nature' as a proud idiot than live to fight again?"

He received no response. It would seem that nobody had introduced the homunculus to hard truths. Ed sighed, exasperated with his stubborn… companion? Tagalong? Hitchhiker? It didn't matter. He had research to do.

* * *

Dumbledore steered a shell-shocked first year through the maze of corridors towards the Hospital wing. The poor boy looked slightly battered, and the edges of his robes looked singed. He hadn't spoken a word the whole way, just walked along, staring straight ahead. The venerable Headmaster knew a case of shock when he saw one, and was impatient to get his student to care.

Not too quickly, though. Even a mind as quick as his still needed time to sift through the events of that afternoon. What to say, what to hide, what to hint at? It wouldn't do to tell the boy he had set loose an unimaginable horror upon the world. Not at all. That sort of thing would kill the boy. Not to mention what the press would make of it. The _Prophet_ would eat him alive.

Not to mention the questions that would inevitably come from certain media elements as to _why_ a demon was sealed in the school in the first place. As distasteful as it was, he had only one option. They were at the exit of the secret passage leading to the sick bay now. Dumbledore turned to Harry, and looked into his half-present eyes.

"I'm so sorry, my boy. _Obliviate._" The green eyes darkened, and the boy collapsed into Dumbledore's arms. There. All the loose ends cut. Except for the demon itself. He mentally resolved to get to that later, as soon as he explained to an irate Madame Pomfrey why three of her most frequent visitors were back for another round of healing.

* * *

Harry woke slowly, blinking the drowsiness out of his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows and stared around. How on earth did he end up in his bed? Wait, not his bed. Hospital wing bed. He frowned in concentration, trying to figure out how on earth he'd gotten here. He remembered walking through the fiery doorway, into the room, where he'd seen-

"Quirrell!" he gasped. What had happened? He obviously hadn't been killed, so maybe Dumbledore saved him? Had Hermione's letter reached him in time?

The wizened wizard in question arrived in the Hospital wing the same time as Harry finished his train of thought. The old man was by his bedside in an instant, twinkling down on him with concern.

"How are you, my boy? Feeling alright, I hope?" The Headmaster sat down by the head of Harry's bed, peering over his half-moon spectacles.

"Fine, sir." Harry answered. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened?"

At this, Dumbledore chuckled.

"It depends on who you ask. At breakfast, I heard you had suffered a tragic death protecting the Stone to your last breath. In the halls, the most interesting rumor was floating around, something about taming a dragon and using it to battle the late Professor Quirrell. At lunch, most of Hufflepuff was convinced you'd vanished, to wander the world under the alias Mr. Grey or some such name, vanquishing Dark Wizards wherever they could be found. And then, this afternoon, Minerva came to me, demanding to know if you had actually been apprenticed to Nicolas Flamel." The old man chuckled, obviously taking enjoyment in the absurdity of the Hogwarts rumor mill. Harry was not to be deterred.

"But what actually happened, sir?" he pressed.

His headmaster sighed, obviously deflated that Harry did not share in his amusement.

"No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left. I rushed back, to find you lying in the same room as the Mirror, and Quirrell… well, I think it's enough to say that he won't be hurting anyone else."

Harry was astounded.

"But _how?_"

Dumbledore's twinkle turned up a few notches, as he looks thoughtfully at his pupil.

"I am of the opinion that the sacrifice that your mother made for you, to save your life from Voldemort, still lingers. Her love protects you, and that is something that an evil being cannot touch."

That did nothing to clarify Harry's confusion. Love saved him from Quirrell? That made as much sense as some dimension travelling hero coming to his rescue.

A few miles away, Edward sneezed violently.

Dumbledore was still sitting by Harry's bedside, and cleared his throat quietly, startling Harry out of his musings. It would seem that the conversation wasn't over yet.

"I do have one question for you, my boy. Do you know what happened to the Sorcerer's Stone? It was not in Quirrell's possession, and I am quite sure that you do not have it. Thus leaving me to ask- Do you know what happened to it?"

Harry shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Professor. All I remember is walking into the room and seeing Quirrell, and then it all goes fuzzy."

Dumbledore cursed inwardly. He shouldn't have been so hasty to wipe the boy's memory. Now he had no idea where the Stone could be. Well, there was one, but it was the least appealing idea he'd had in the last ten years.

He stood, smiling once more.

"Thank you for your time, Harry. I must be taking my leave now."

And with that, he left, hurrying back to his office as quickly as possible. There were calls to make, and contacts to warn. He had a demon to hunt.

* * *

Edward made his way down the long road, searching for any signs of civilization. After a few hours of tunneling with alchemy, he had finally managed to make his way out of the castle. Who even runs a school inside a _castle?_ It was ridiculous.

After freeing himself, his first order of business was to repair his clothing, which, unfortunately, did not regenerate with his body. He made a mental note to never get set on fire or otherwise completely destroyed. Pain of regeneration aside, he'd be running around stark naked until he found something to wear or transmute. He had done so with some of the plants growing near the edge of the forest close by, and then set out to find a town. Or any place where he could get information. If he could find a library, he was set.

Half an hour later, he found himself standing in the middle of a mostly empty street, shops on either side. Nobody had yet screamed or run away, so he figured he was set as far as blending in. It seemed that the town- Hogsmeade, if the signs were anything to go by- was mostly empty. It made him wonder how the various shops managed to keep open. Surely they didn't sell only to those living in town. Maybe the students were allowed a day or two off, to spend in town?

He shook his head. Focus, Ed. Focus.

So. Library. Scanning the storefronts as he walked by, he spotted a bookstore. Almost as good- he didn't have any money, but there weren't any rules against reading while in the store. Or so he hoped.

Closing time saw Edward sitting among a pile of history books, sifting through the events of the last century. By his guess, basing off Dumbledore's apparent change in age, he'd been put away for a good half century or so. This theory was supported by the books, which said that the last war the old man had actually participated in was around that time frame, and Ed had most definitely appeared on a battleground. So, fifty year time gap it was. It made him wonder why Truth had bothered to send him somewhere half a century early. The being had obviously chosen to toss him in at a specific point, but it made him wonder. He chalked it up to insane God powers. And being a bastard.

Another thing confusing him was these people's version of alchemy. They honestly believed they were doing magic, going so far as to referring to themselves as 'witches' and 'wizards'. They were in hiding from the rest of the world, which apparently didn't have 'magic'. It seemed it was a natural gift, unlike teachable alchemy, which most considered to be a lesser art. Turning lead into gold was their primary aim, and they couldn't even do _that_! It was shameful. If he wasn't so busy, he might have taught a class. Knock the ignorance out of them.

Nah. It would take _years._

Everything now seemed to center on the events of the last decade and a half. It seemed a second war had been fought up until eleven years ago, when it ended suddenly with the death of the 'Dark Side's' figurehead. Accounts differed, but apparently he'd been taken out by a _baby _of all things. Since then, except for a few isolated terrorist attacks, everything was quiet.

As far as finding out what Truth's ambiguous 'imbalances' were, he had made no progress. That was still the state of his research when the shopkeeper finally noticed him and tossed him out with a few choice expletives. Edward made a note to look that up later. It was one thing to swear in Amestrian, but nobody understood that here, and he needed to insult people _properly_. To their faces, while they could understand him.

He turned and walked down the road, towards where he had seen a pub. After a day like this, he needed a stiff drink. That is, if Homunculi could get drunk. Pride chose that moment to stop giving him the silent treatment over their previous argument, with a philosophical answer to his mental question.

"**I've got no idea if we can get smashed, but here's to finding out. Transmute yourself some gold, and let's see if these people make some good alcohol."**

That, at least, was a sentiment he could agree with.

* * *

Dumbledore stood in front of the assembled first responders who had made it to his office. He frowned gravely, and everyone in the room shivered. Dumbledore frowning was an evil, evil omen. Something terrible must have happened.

"My friends, I would like to thank you for responding to my request on such short notice. I realize that you all are curious as to the urgency of my message, so I shall make this brief."

He stopped, swallowed, and blinked a few times. For once, it was neither dramatic effect nor toying with his audience that made him pause.

"We face a threat that has the potential to be lethal on the level of a rouge dragon. I anticipate that we shall be faced with the same circumstances as with the end of the last war."

That announcement got their attention. Suddenly nobody was tired, and every ear in the room was hanging on his words.

"This afternoon, as I'm sure some of you are aware, a failed attempt was made to steal the Sorcerer's Stone from Hogwarts. The perpetrator, the late Professor Quirrell, is dead. However, his attempt has loosed something much more powerful."

Mutterings were heard, and Alastor Moody spoke up.

"Well, then, Albus, what is this threat? Stop beating around the bush and tell us!"

Dumbledore's gaze fell upon the man.

"In due time, Alastor. In due time."

"I am sure you are all aware of the history of the Wizarding war before Voldemort's crusade. The cleanup from Grindelwald's war was messy, and extensive. One of the operations which I personally took part in the ending of was the summoning and binding of a demon."

Nearly everyone in the room gasped. A demon was unheard of! There were no actual recorded accounts of one, only vague legends from Merlin's time, of men who summoned great beings, which inevitably destroyed them. Dumbledore continued over the alarmed murmurings.

"The demon, was, thankfully, still weak, and was bound and sealed away before any harm could come to anybody. I regret to say that age has made me foolish, and it was not guarded as it should have been. It has escaped, and I believe has taken Nicolas' stone with it."

One of them fainted. The rest were very pale, having gotten the implications of what he was saying. An immeasurably powerful being with an immeasurably powerful artifact was loose. Dumbledore didn't wait for them to recover. He had another important announcement to make.

"In this time of emergency, I am reinstating the Order of the Phoenix. As school is out for the summer holidays, meetings will be held here, every week on Saturday. For now, go home, get some rest, and find your contacts. We need to establish a search network as soon as possible. It takes the form of a young man, maybe in his early twenties. He has golden eyes and hair, and is on the short side. If you must engage, do so with caution. He has what I believe to be very advanced elemental magic, and is an extremely adept fighter. Whatever you do, _do not_ tell the Ministry. With their measures, they'll be arresting every blond werewolf in the country, and panicking too much to do anything properly if they find the real deal. Same for the Prophet, for obvious reasons."

With that said, he sat back down in his chair.

"I thank you, and good night. I have paperwork to do, and a Defense teacher to find."

The stunned members filed out of the office, heading their separate ways out of the castle. Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody walked out to Hogsmeade down the main path. He'd need to double, triple his wards. Buy a new foe glass, another scrying bowl. And then contact his resources for this demon hunt. But first. First, he was going to get a pint to soothe his nerves.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Edward Elric sat back in his stool, downing his fifth Firewhisky. After fifty-something years of forced fasting, the stuff was the best thing he'd ever tasted, fire breath or no. It also seemed that Homunculi could get drunk. At least, a little tipsy. He mentally wondered if the Stone would let him die of alcohol poisoning before regenerating him. The other bar patrons were staring at him in mild amazement. This stranger was well on his way to beating Hagrid's record! It was unthinkable that someone of his size would compare to a giant of a man like Hagrid.

Then, all attention was redirected as the door banged open and one of the Hog's Head's rarer patrons strode in. All criminal activity going on in the corners of the room ceased as Mad-Eye step-clunked unevenly up to the bar.

"One Firewhiskey."

"Coming right up."

As Moody drank the volatile beverage, his eye continued to rove around the bar. It paused on a man sitting a few stools down from him, who seemed to be on his sixth pint. Impressive.

He froze as the eye caught a glimpse of the man's face. Golden hair. Golden eyes. On the smaller side. Just his luck.

Moody turned casually towards the heavy drinker, slowly unsheathing his wand. In a sudden flash of movement, it shot out and the next moment the man was stunned and bound. Moody stood up in the now completely silent bar, stepping over to his victim.

Who didn't seem to understand that being Stunned meant being knocked out. Dark, angry violet- why were they violet?- eyes glared up at him as the floor surrounding the captive sprung to life. Blades of shadow cut him free, others propelling him up to stand.

Glaring at the man in front of him, Pride snarled. He knew it was stupid to let their guard down this close to the castle, but they'd been overconfident. And now someone had found them.

"There's a right way to introduce yourself, you know," he began. "Attacking someone isn't it."

He snuck shadows around their feet, ready to slice at his attacker's prosthetic and break his real leg. Moody growled back.

"And what are you, monster?" he asked. "Certainly not human. Definitely powerful. And in possession of the Stone, to boot. I've fought ones like you before, and I'll do so again."

Pride raised an eyebrow.

"I very much doubt you've ever seen something like _me_ before. I'm something a little more…" he trailed off, searching for the right word in Ed's limited English. "Unique."

A flash of movement was all the warning he got before the man's stick- _wand_\- flew up to his face, letting off a vicious line of purple on its way up. Pride staggered back as he was sliced from hip to mid-chest, bleeding profusely from the wound. The man stepped back, apparently mildly surprised that his curse had worked. By this time, the bar was empty except for the two of them. Nobody else wanted to get caught in this type of barfight.

Pride steadied himself, red sparks flashing as he straightened, the mortal wound closing. He grinned.

"That the best you got, wooden leg?"

He threw his arms up, shadows obeying as they wrapped around Moody's peg leg, attempting to smash it into kindling. Attempting. The years of runework and enchantments served Moody's prosthetic well, reinforcing the wood far past its breaking point. At Pride's momentary confusion, Moody took the opportunity to cast a spell he thought he'd never use in a fight.

"Lumos Maxima!"

The blast of light wiped away Pride's shadows, momentarily blinding him. The hardened Auror twisted, and Apparated away just in time to avoid being skewered. He'd been at a disadvantage before, and didn't intend on walking blind into a fight with this particular opponent again.

Pride raged in the abandoned bar, smashing chairs to splinters in his anger. The man had gotten away! He'd been stupid, trying to cripple instead of kill.

"**Not that I don't agree with the stupid part, but killing him wouldn't have done us many favors either."**

And there was Ed. Trying to be the moral one.

"**And as stress-relieving as I'm sure smashing this place is, we should probably get out of here before he gets back here with someone to help him. We might have taken him on one to one, but against a group, I don't like our chances."**

Pride's face twisted.

"We can take them. I can take them. I'll show them all why they should fear my name, and why nobody can get the drop on _me._ I'll send them cowering back to their castle, and I'll twist the information we need out of whoever we manage to catch. _Nobody_ beats me. Nobody."

Ed was shocked by the poison in the Homunculus' words. It seemed he hadn't quite gotten over the loss earlier that day. But this… This was beyond that. This was a flashback to the older Pride. The homicidal, mass-murdering, evil Pride. This called for drastic actions. He'd have to appeal to common sense.

"**Pride. Stop, and think. If you try to fight them, you might win at first. Hell, you might send the majority of them running. But we still don't know everything they can do. You saw some of the stuff in those books. I guarantee that there's more where that came from, and numbers will get us even if nothing else does. **_**Think, **_**dammit! Do you **_**want**_** to be locked up in that **_**place**_** again, or killed?"**

The shadows abruptly stopped swarming, and receded back to their owner. His host had a point. Pride reluctantly agreed.

"Fine. But we _are_ going to severely beat the next person who points a stick at us. And if you don't, I certainly will."

Ed, finding no fault with the terms, returned to control. He ran to the side wall, and transmuted a door into a back alley. No sense going out the front door with the whole town stirred up as it was. They'd probably attack him on sight. Better to lie low until he could figure out what was going on. For now, he needed to disappear.

He turned, and with a clap and a flash, the alley was empty again, with the wall at the end just slightly cleaner than would be expected.

* * *

A shadowy figure leaned over his desk in a warmly lit office. No sense in going blind over a sense of drama, after all. He peered at the informant in front of him. It was highly unusual to leave one's post- normally, a report would be filed. That the agent had reported to him in person meant that whatever he had found out was guaranteed to be of interest.

"Sir, at about seven this afternoon, there was a disturbance in the Hog's Head." The shadowy figure waited for the report to continue. Drunken brawls were routine. Not of their interest.

"This one all but leveled the building. As it is, most of the furniture in the bar was smashed, and every bit of floor and wall is ruined."

Not as usual. Aberforth had protection charms on his furniture, having long gotten tired of beer-soaked wizards destroying his tables and chairs. Still not worth reporting in person. There was something left to the story.

"The nature of the fighters might be of interest to you. Alastor Moody quite suddenly and unexpectedly stunned and bound the wizard sitting next to him at the bar. It was a shame, too. He was two Firewhiskeys away from winning me a few galleons…" The operative trailed off as he realized he was getting off topic.

"Anyway, this wasn't one of Moody's regular catches. Shortly after being hit, the unknown displayed a resistance to the stunning spell, as well as what appears to be umbra kinesis. The agents down in Intelligence are of the opinion it's either Dark Magic or a high-level possession. Long story short, whatever it was didn't take kindly to being shot at and trashed the place. Moody actually had to run away."

Oh. Now _that_ was interesting. Resistance to a Stunner could just be runed clothing, maybe a bit of enchantment work. However, umbra kinesis was something worth paying attention to. His hood twitched in a manner indicating approval.

"Good work. Send in a parchment report, and then get back to your shift." The informer nodded and left.

Notifications would have to be made. People to be told. Plans to be set in motion. Searches to start, and, most importantly, a person to be found.

* * *

**Ooh, mystery! And suspense, and sinister well-lit offices! The plot is picking up now, and I'm glad to note that I have a semi-clear idea of where it's going!**

**As you may have noticed, I've been avoiding the issue of, well, my lateness. I started writing this chapter after Lhurgoyf started threatening me with bodily harm. That was a month ago. You can thank him it came this early. As it is, this chapter was written in the brief spaces in between correspondence on my Engineering final project, my English paper, and day-to-day homework. Not to mention two hour long track practice.**

**It's inexcusable, I know, but there it is.**

**Before you all freak out, Dumbledore is not evil. He is not going to try to manipulate everyone to a grand machination of his own. I'll leave that to others. My Dumbledore is a well-meaning, but misguided individual who has been told of his own importance one time too many. Dumbledore is brilliant, and powerful, and benevolent. But sometimes, the Greater Good makes him do things that are morally reprehensible. There it is. Do not leave me a hateful review arguing against my logic, as I will ignore it. I normally do not ignore criticism, but unless you can solidly argue one way or another, Dumbles is grey.**

**Again apologizing for my lateness, I bid you farewell until sometime in June.**

**-Ambiguity**


	6. Arrest, Complaints, and Bureaucracy

**I'm back! To those of you who asked me nicely to update, here's your reward for reviewing. A full excuse for my almost-lateness will be found below. But for now…**

**On with the story!  
**

* * *

Albus Dumbledore gazed over his spectacles at a slightly battered Mad-Eye Moody. The man had flooed to his office not three hours after the emergency meeting, with news of an encounter with his quarry. It had, quite frankly, shocked him that anybody had been successful this early. Asking the Order to keep on the lookout was a preliminary measure, with other networks to be awakened in time. But for the demon to be sighted so soon, and in Hogsmeade of all places…

Moody cleared his throat, breaking him out of his musings. Startled back to the present, Dumbledore blinked, then spoke.

"So, Alastor, besides the fact that you saw it in the Hog's Head, is there anything else of importance?"

The scarred man looked uneasy, his eye spinning even faster in its socket, focusing sporadically on the numerous shadows that dotted the corners of the room.

"He didn't look at all threatening. Was enjoying a drink, not bothering anybody. If it hadn't been for the eyes, I'd have thought he was a regular at the bar. Didn't act strange at all until the moment I hit him with the stunner."

Albus' eyebrows rose.

"And you're sure that it was the demon?"

Alastor chuckled darkly.

"I doubted it myself until the moment he started flinging shadows all over the place. Healed right over when I hit him with a Cutter, too." He scowled even deeper. "That's dark, dark magic Albus. You know the kind of rituals that lead to powers like those…"

Dumbledore frowned, his wrinkled forehead creasing in mild concern. Shadows and healing? He brushed it off as inconsequential. Simply another power to be contended against.

"Was anyone hurt?"

Moody shook his head.

"No, the bar was cleared by the time it managed to get out of the ropes." He grinned ferociously. "Nobody seemed to want to stick around to watch the fight."

Dumbledore sighed. That meant people had seen. Which meant that the secret was out.

"Thank you, Alastor. I know it's redundant, but please be careful. You have a target on your back, and one more enemy aiming for it."

The ex-Auror nodded briskly and stumped out. The headmaster leaned back into his seat and sighed. It had been a very trying day. And now, this new information. Why would it interact with wizards? From what he'd discovered on the topic, a demon would have been razing the town to the ground, not enjoying a drink. It didn't make any sense.

Fawkes trilled softly. He sighed, frayed nerves soothed by the phoenix's song. He could sort all these details out later, when it wasn't quite so late at night and his mind was clear.

* * *

Rita Skeeter was a very happy witch. The Prophet was booming, her defense lawyer had successfully won another slander lawsuit, and the next big scoop had fallen right into her lap. She could practically see the headlines- _DARK WIZARD RAMPAGES AT HOG'S HEAD_—followed by a few 'eyewitness' accounts, wrapped up with some nice scathing questions directed at the Auror Corps. Just enough controversy and a dash of fear. The paper would be flying off the shelves.

It had started when one of her *_ahem_* less reputable sources came to her with a half-drunken story of that senile has-been, Mad-Eye Moody, stunning and binding another patron of the bar. Said patron had proceeded to break free of the bindings and set his obviously dark magic rampaging through the building. Moody had been forced to run, and the Dark Wizard's status was unknown. It was the perfect story. Not too many details, and too few credible eyewitnesses. In other words, room to write _creatively._

Practically cackling with glee, she gave one last look at the still-drying ink of her notes as she went to work on her typewriter, already planning how she'd spend the gold. Italy was nice this time of year…

* * *

Edward stopped where he stood, and leaned against the bricks of a storefront. He was wet, cold, and lost beyond all belief. The city he'd found himself in after taking the train from Hogsmeade was called London, and was the capital of a place called England. So far, he'd only learned a few things besides that. People thought he looked funny, everything here was faster and brighter, nobody wanted gold as payment, and the whole city was wet. Very wet.

As he walked down the darkening streets, he reached the conclusion that he was screwed. No money, no place to stay, and no information. Wonderful. At least the rain was dying down.

Seeing an opportunity to dry off a little, Ed clapped his hands together and ran them over his hair and clothes. Electricity crackled and steam rose off his frame as he continued on his way, ignoring the stares of the few others who noticed.

Mistake number one.

Several quiet *pops* sounded as men and women appeared in side alleys lining the street, filing in and surreptitiously blocking both ends of the road. The few actual pedestrians looked around, quietly disturbed at the number of oddly dressed people. This confusion was replaced by a sudden desire to go home and check on the roast they had left in the oven, or go to the pub, or find a loo. The entire street was cleared in a matter of seconds. Edward, lost in his thoughts, didn't give any attention to the changes.

Mistake number two.

The man in charge of the robed individuals raised his wand and spoke in a loud, clear voice.

"You're under arrest for violation of the International Statute of Secrecy. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Ed looked up from his self-pity and registered the current abandoned status of his surroundings, save for the Aurors in front of and behind him.

"**I think he's talking to us."**

Edward looked askance at the wizard in front of him. What violation of secrecy? All he'd done was a transmutation, nothing fancy. None of the magic these people seemed to care so much about keeping secret.

"Stop where you are! Put your hands in the air, and lay your wand at your feet. We've got anti-Apparition and Portkey wards up on the entire block! You're coming with us to a comfy little cell in Azkaban!"

That got his attention. Prison was a setback to whatever he felt like doing next, and breaking out would be such a _pain._ Besides, he'd already done fifty years for nothing but existing, he didn't need any more. Nodding his head at the decision and Pride's agreement with his reasoning, he politely told the man in a dress to fuck off.

And they took exception to that.

Ducking under one beam of light, he had just enough time to twist out of the way of another. There were seven of them total, but backup was always an option. He'd need to take them down fast.

A quickly transmuted dome bought him some time to think as the warped cobblestone shook overhead. When the dust and rubble settled, there was no golden-eyed criminal in sight, and the Aurors quickly spread out, Protegos up and detection charms going.

The first man had just enough time to look towards where his wand was pointing him as the ground reached up and swallowed his legs, his torso, and his arms. Buried up to his chest and still sinking, all he had time to do was shout a warning to his partners.

"He's underground!"

Then the world exploded.

Plumes of dust shot in the air as random bursts of the street shot upwards in a spray of sharp stone. Sections of the ground melted, swallowing four more Aurors before hardening again, leaving them immobilized up to their chins. The remaining ten stood back to back, wands pointing outwards and spells on their lips.

Footsteps sounded, sharp on the road amidst the settling dust and rocks. Edward stepped out of the smoke, arm-blade at the ready and a rectangular, a polished stone shield in his flesh hand.

The first spell, a dull red bolt, flew over his left shoulder, ruffling his hair. He mentally face-palmed. Five men downed, and they still waste time on warning shots. His pace continued uninterrupted. The next spell meant business, a vivid orange spiraling towards his chest. It was deflected by the shield, and crashed into a storefront window. Which exploded, with the contents bursting into spectacular flames.

Hm. Orange is a good color to dodge.

He deflected a few more shots, stopping his advance and backing up as the group opened fire in earnest. A shot clipped him on his automail knee, causing the port to shock him rather nastily. Half of his toes went dead. The distraction cost him another hit in his flesh shoulder, locking his arm out rigidly and forcing him to drop his shield. He snarled, and red lightning flashed, the street once again bending to his will. Only this time, they saw it coming. As soon as the light show started, the shifting cobbles were blasted to pieces, stopping his transmutation short. A second attempt got him the same results. He was about to really cut loose with a few pages from Kimblee's book when a sharp series of cracks echoed all around him. Ed raised his head to see cloaked figures from every angle.

"We've got you surrounded. Lie on the ground with your arms on either side, and put your wand in front of you. Resist and we'll start using lethal force. Nod if you understand me."

Edward did a quick mental calculation. There were about forty of them, and he'd burned through quite a bit of the Stone's energy in the past two days. Not to mention his stiff arm and half-useless leg.

He ignored Pride's grumbling, and nodded.

* * *

It seemed that no matter where he went, the criminal justice system was always inefficient and back-asswards. Not like he expected them to act nice to the guy who just blew up half a street resisting arrest, but _still_.

The 'Portkey' that they'd shoved onto him had felt distinctly unpleasant, and his arrival at what seemed to be a magical police station was greeted with a bruiser in another dress-_robes,_ he was informed-who shoved him unceremoniously into a cell.

"Could I get a lawyer?" he chanced. They _did_ have defendant's rights in this place, right?

"No." Apparently not.

That particularly eloquent conversation was followed by a translucent blue wall springing up in the doorway of his cell. At least his arm had loosened up. The pins and needles feeling was annoying, but at least the curse wasn't permanent.

"**So, when do we break out?"**

Edward frowned.

"Problem is, I don't think we _can._ I burned through quite a bit of the Stone, and short of eating a few souls, we don't have any way to replace all the energy we've lost. Transmuting my way out of the back of the cell could work, but we still don't know where we are, so-"

"HEY, GOLDY, SHUT UP!"

"**Aaaand there's that guy. Think you could talk in your head, maybe? Save us some trouble?"**

"Why didn't you suggest this sooner?

"**You looked stupid talking to yourself for no apparent reason. It was amusing, and I'll take entertainment where I can get it."**

The alchemist sighed, mentally conveying just what he thought of that particular hobby. He stood, and placed a hand on the back wall of his cell. Moments later, he drew his hand away, eyes widening in shock.

'Did you-'

"**Yep. No feedback. Think we're bac-"**

Ed shook his head vehemently.

'No, they couldn't have. If they did, we'd be lying in a pile of gold right now. For now, let's just chalk it up to more of the same voodoo magic that they've got going on.'

The same results were gained from his bed, sheets, even the bucket sitting in the corner. When they were inspecting that one, Pride had an idea.

"**Maybe we could-"**

'No.'

"**But-"**

'No.'

"**You aren't even-"**

'I told you Pride, we're not doing that. There are limits. For such a _dignified _person, I swear-'

It was Ed's turn to be cut off.

"**What's undignified about looking at the barrier they've put up?"**

Ed's eyes widened.

'Oh. We could do that.'

"**What did you- Oh. **_**Ohhh**_**. Gross. What on earth made you think **_**that?**_**"**

Ignoring the fake-retching sounds Pride was making, Edward walked over to the barrier, and put a hand on it. Again, no feedback. He was about to pull his hand away when Pride stopped him.

"**Wait. Whatever that thing's made of, the Stone's filling up."**

His eyes widened. In his excitement, he forgot to think his conversation.

"Of course! Energy! Magic is basically energy, so the Stone can-"

"SHUT UP!"

* * *

Dumbledore was getting tired of receiving late-night emergency Floo calls. Why couldn't the world wait until a decent hour to turn upside-down? He heaved a sigh in resignation and let the wards blocking the Floo open up.

A flustered Cornelius Fudge stumbled into his office, looking quite upset underneath the soot.

"Albus, there's been a bit of a disturbance down in London, and we'd like your input. We've apprehended the perpetrator, but he's…" the rotund man searched for a word to describe what he'd seen. "… Different."

Dumbledore wearily stood.

"Different in what way?" he questioned. "There are about twelve thousand wizards and witches in Magical Britain, and I hardly suspect they are all the same. Does our mystery man have a strange tattoo? An eye-patch? Or perhaps an interestingly shaped nose?"

His attempt at levity was lost on the Minister.

"No, Albus. He's different in that it took three squads of Aurors to get him to come in peacefully, and we're still trying to dig out the three that he managed to get to…"

Dumbledore's interest perked. After all, exceptionally powerful individuals didn't just appear out of thin air.

"And what on earth is the man in for, that one fifth of the Auror Corps were called in for his arrest?"

Fudge winced, his pudgy hands nervously wringing the brim of his bowler cap.

"Er… well, you see… it started out with just a minor breach of Secrecy. A spike of energy was located by the sensors, we sent in Aurors, and there's the man walking down a rainy street, completely dry. We're still trying to figure out why he'd risk arrest for something as simple as an Impervious charm… Anyway. Long story short, the men sent in were a little overzealous, and a fight broke out. Three men were buried to their noses in the street, and then the squad leader called for backup. He only surrendered when he realized they had him outnumbered and surrounded, and even then the reports say it took him a while to decide to give in."

Dumbledore frowned, putting on his 'weary grandfather' aura. Perhaps he could guilt the man into leaving him alone?

"And I suppose you want me to come help with cleanup, then?"

The Minister had the good grace to look sheepish.

"Well, not exactly, but if you feel like it, then you could help, but it's the other thing he's been doing that's got the Aurors on edge. He was hit with a partial _Petrificus_, and his arm should've stayed frozen for hours if not countered. But as soon as they got him to the station, it was right as rain again. They brushed that off, put him in one of the Ministry cells until he could sit for a trial, but, well, I have trouble believing it, _the cell failed!_"

Dumbledore's eyes widened fractionally.

"What do you mean, failed? Those wards are Gringotts' finest, they're designed to last centuries. Did he break out, or did he have an accomplice?"

Fudge now looked slightly better, knowing something the all-seeing Headmaster didn't. He took a breath and continued his tale.

"Well, from what the man on guard said (once we could get him conscious again), he was banging on the ward-wall for a bit, then suddenly stopped. He poked and prodded it, and then all at once, popped it like a bubble. At the same time, most of the wards in the rest of the cell block failed, and he escaped in the confusion. As far as the diagnostics go, he didn't break the wards. The runes are all still intact. He _drained_ them, Albus! The Unspeakables are saying it's something like a magical vampire! Just sucked the energy right out of the system, and if he hadn't left, might have moved on to the Ministry's security wards next!"

Dumbledore drew his conclusion.

"And so you want help determining how to find our culprit?"

Fudge nodded, apparently relieved he hadn't had to ask himself.

"Yes. Of course, we realize you're a busy man, and I couldn't possibly intrude on your duties to the school, but any advice you have to offer-"

He was stalled by Albus' raised hand.

"Of course I can help. Just give me a description and I'll ask a few contacts to start looking."

"Thank you Albus, with your help I'm sure we'll apprehend the man in no time. The report put him in at about five and a half feet, maybe a bit shorter. Blond hair, red coat, white gloves. Let's see, there was something else I was missing. What was it now…?"

Dumbledore, with a mounting sense of dread, asked the question he really didn't want to hear the answer to.

"His face, perhaps?"

His friend brightened, having obviously remembered the elusive detail.

"That's it! Bright gold eyes! Strangest color they'd ever seen!" The Minister, now much livelier than when he came in, gave his thanks and headed towards the fireplace. Albus Dumbledore was on the case, and so the political storm would be diverted. As he spun away from Hogwarts, he didn't even notice the way a shaking Albus Dumbledore limply sat back down into his chair.

Dumbledore watched the Minister of Magic depart, with a mixed feeling of dread and defeat. The secret was out, albeit only partially. He could only imagine the next day's headlines.

It was times like this when he wished he could just retire quietly.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in a familiar well-lit but still sinister office, several cloaked men and women were being reprimanded.

"You mean to tell me, that he was right _there,_ that they literally had him in a cell, and you couldn't extract him?"

The man in the shadowed cloak paced animatedly in front of his desk.

"For Merlin's sake, why do I even pay you people? You're given a briefing, a target, and a nice set of shrouded robes and notice-me-nots, but you can't do a simple retrieval?"

The most senior of the bunch stepped forwards, ready to protest.

"Sir, to be fair, it was chaos down there. Every lowlife in those cells was making a break for it, and we couldn't even see him. If it makes any difference, Seven managed to get a diagnosis of the magic he used to take out the Auror."

Sitting down at his desk, he folded his hands.

"And your results?"

"It wasn't magic. Or rather, if it was, we can't tell what spell he used. We've got no clue what he did, but there isn't a trace of any sort of magic on the floor. No animation, no transfiguration. Whatever he did left absolutely no magical trace."

The shadowy leader nodded.

"Put it in your report. Given that this isn't a complete loss, you're getting another chance. Get someone in some kind of contact with him. That's your assignment for the next month. Now get out of my office."

Not believing their luck, the subordinates filed out of the room. Under his illusion, he grinned. Umbra kinesis, a healing factor, magical resistance, ward sapping_,_ and now undetectable manipulation of his surroundings. This was one they definitely wanted to gather into the fold. The things someone with his abilities could _do…_

He pulled out a bottle of Ogden's finest and poured himself a glass. This was cause for celebration, and the alcohol helped him scheme. Events were shifting much more quickly and everything seemed to focus around the mysterious golden man. It all depended on who could reach him first.

Because whoever did would surely be holding all the right cards when the time came.

The time for what? He frowned. That _was_ the question.

* * *

**Hey guys! I said June, it's still June, I met my deadline! YAY! Not at all going to apologize for misleading those who thought 'sometime in June' meant early June!**

**So… here's the awkward part.**

**You see, I wrote this story off of a particularly ravenous plot bunny who was sitting in the corner of my mind for weeks. It was bad. The first chapter was easy-peasy. Same for the second. Third took a little more effort and by the fifth I was running out of steam. **

**Let the dread mount in the back of your minds.**

**Just kidding! Not going to abandon the story. Remember the promise. Anyway, point is that basically, I need time to actually consider where this plot is going to head. I have a general idea, but specifics are going to take some time, and I refuse to write my first story without a plan. I apologize in advance for the words you're about to read.**

**This story is going on hiatus. Don't panic, it's probably just going to be a month. Maybe two. I will be back by September by the latest, and this entire train wreck of an AN will be taken down when Chapter 7 is put up. That is all. Thank you for your support.**

**~Ambiguity**


	7. Headlines

**SHADOWS' SHADOWS IS BACK!**

**For the rest of Harry's Second year, anyways. After that, well, we'll see. But for now, my plot has advanced far enough to keep going for at least four more chapters. I didn't want to keep you guys waiting too long.**

**Enough boring stuff.**

**ON WITH THE STORY!**

* * *

DARK WIZARD IN HOG'S HEAD!

Battle destroys bar, culprit escapes.

_Last night, I, Rita Skeeter, special correspondent, received intelligence from one of my undercover sources that there was a Dark Wizard roaming the streets of Hogsmeade… _

…_Hog's Head pub completely decimated… _

…_Casualties still unknown… _

… _Whether he has to do with the mysterious disappearance of Quirinus Quirrell, the DADA teacher this past year is still up in the air…_

_But the question I'd like to pose to all of my dear readers is this: Where were the much-vaunted Aurors during this battle? Can we really trust our Ministry to save us when we are in danger?_

Albus Dumbledore set down his paper and sighed. This was it. The news had been broken. It was a small blessing that the true identity of the mysterious dark wizard hadn't been revealed. The public would be in uproar, panic and fear would set in. It would be the 1970's all over again. No, the truth was the last thing they needed to hear.

He pushed the Prophet to one side and pulled out the large stack of parchment-work he still had to complete. Honestly, half of these things didn't even seem like they were necessary functions of the school. Since when was there a fee for the number of Muggleborns in attendance? Or a House Elf Control Fund? He suspected that more than a few of these fed back into the Governor's pockets. Of course, with the clout they possessed in the Wizengamot, he'd be lucky to get a bill on the floor to change things. Such was the state of his political power. He was regarded as a hero, but had no influence as one.

Fawkes appeared in a flash on his usual perch. The aging phoenix stuck out a clawed leg, with a letter attached. Dumbledore looked up, his interest diverted. There were very few people who the proud bird would let use it as a messenger, and all of those people promised something more interesting than the school's financial state. As he unfolded the letter, his eyes widened in surprise and realization. In the fuss over the demon, he'd completely forgotten about Nicolas!

_Dear Albus,_

_ As I am sure you have noticed, there seems to be dangers around your school that I had not anticipated when entrusting you with my Stone. A teacher missing, presumably dead, and a Dark Wizard lurking around the countryside! I have spent this past year perfecting my own safe place to keep such an artifact, where it will not endanger the lives of your students. Meet me at the usual spot with it, and I can take one more worry off your mind._

_Sincerest Regards,_

_Nicolas_

Wonderful. Now, not only did he have to finish his paperwork, he had to explain to his old friend how he'd accidentally stored it in the same spot as a certain demon. Who had now escaped and taken the Stone with it.

Unless…

It was cruel. It was wrong. It was a betrayal of trust and a blatant lie. But it would buy him time, time to find the Stone and make things right. He forced himself to ignore that painfully guilting voice in his head and set pen to paper.

_My dearest friend._

_I would like to express my deepest regrets. Despite the constant vigilance of my staff and myself, and the extreme measures we took to protect it, the Stone was destroyed in Quirrell's bid to steal it. I am very, very sorry for my failure, and hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me for my mistakes._

_Also, there was evidence left to show Quirrell did not act all on his own. Or even entirely of his own accord. Be on the lookout, my friend. Dark times are drawing closer._

_My deepest condolences,_

_Albus_

Fawkes eyed him testily, chirping a few harsh notes. Dumbledore frowned.

"Yes, I know. But telling him we actually let it get stolen would be even worse! What would I tell him? That I forgot I had a demon in with the Stone? What would he do then? Worse still, what would his _wife _do to me? She'd kill me! Then transfigure me into some kind of rug to keep on her floor for the next half century or so! This way, I can work on getting it back to them."

He looked around, realizing the blasted bird had flown off mid-justification. He turned his gaze away from the empty perch and back to the paperwork.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

* * *

Many miles away, in a dimmed potions lab, an ancient alchemist got his answer. Flamel turned to the messenger.

"He's not telling the whole truth, is he?"

Fawkes hummed a few low notes.

"I thought so. Is there any chance he knows where my Stone is?"

Fawkes shook his head. Nicolas sighed. Tossing Fawkes a bunch of grapes, he gave his thanks.

"I know that you'll follow that old coot to the end, but thank you for the warning. Keep an ear out for anything helpful, will you?"

With a trill and a flash of fire, the phoenix was gone. Flamel turned back to his latest project.

"Perenelle, dear, would you please get me the pictures on your way back from the Ministry today? Croaker wanted me to look at some kind of special Transfigurations."

* * *

If Edward Elric had known that he had made the headlines in another world as a result of his penchant for mass destruction, he would have laughed, because some things never change. Then again, it was probably better he didn't laugh in this situation.

"Put any weapons down on the ground and come with me. I'm going to get a little bounty."

Yeah, it was probably wrong to laugh here. Day two and he already had people who wanted to hunt him down. It had taken weeks back home. But back to the situation at hand.

He happily obliged the bounty hunter, clapping his hands together, and slamming them on the ground. Which rose up in a wave and then collapsed forwards, burying the poor fool. By the man's screams, he'd probably broken something. He walked up to the now-trapped wizard and kicked his wand away before he got any ideas. Kneeling down, golden eyes burned into terrified brown.

"I am asking you a few questions. You will answer. Understand?"

His captive, in a display of what was either incredible bravery or suicidal stupidity, spat at him.

"Make me."

Standing up slowly, Edward frowned down at him.

"**Ooh, can I try? You haven't let me out in **_**ages.**_**"**

The wizard watched as his captor slowly grinned down at him, the smile getting wider and wider until he deeply regretted his previous actions. The strange man closed his eyes, and then opened them.

"Now." That one was spoken with enough homicidal glee to make even the most hardened man shiver. Why were his eyes _purple?_ Why were the shadows moving? Why was he this terrified of some runaway convict? Why why whywhywhywhy-

"Where were we? Oh, right. You were going to tell me everything you know."

He began to talk.

Pride strolled through the streets of northern London, examining his shiny new wand. If he needed to pass as a wizard, it would come in handy. Of course, they all thought Alchemy was some sort of 'magic' anyway, so the point was moot. They classified everything as magic. Even his shadows were _dark _magic. The irony did not escape him.

Apparently he was now a wanted felon, for 'repeated breach of the 'Secrecy', whatever that was, 'assault on Ministry officials', and 'breach of criminal security'. He didn't exactly understand every fancy word they used, but from what he did get, he was basically in trouble for doing magic in public, resisting arrest, and breaking out of jail. Why they couldn't just say that was beyond him.

He had left the gibbering wreck of his latest attacker in the alley where he had forced a confrontation. Of course, he had divested the man of his wallet, wand, and shoes. The wand and wallet he wanted for obvious reasons, but he stole the shoes for his own amusement. A man in robes running barefoot through the streets was sure to attract the non-magical officials.

It was an hour later when he finally found a hotel. It was a run-down establishment, with peeling wallpaper and a few chairs that looked like they had seen better days. He walked up to the front desk just as another customer was signing in. A quick bump against the retreating patron was enough to lift his wallet. Oh, the skills one learns when forced to look after oneself in Amestrian cities. The last few months of his employment with the military weren't exactly _paid,_ seeing as the Fuhrer wanted him captured. He wasn't the best, but then again, he didn't have to practice often.

He turned towards the clerk, who either didn't see the move or didn't care.

"How much for a room for the next month?"

The man looked at him, raising an eyebrow at his accent.

"Three hundred pounds."

Edward took out the wallet, which the clerk really should have recognized, having seen the same one not five minutes earlier. Ed pulled out three of the bills with a 100 printed on them, and put them on the counter.

The clerk took the money and pushed a key across the counter.

"The room's yours. Don't make too much noise or we'll kick you out. Don't wreck the room or we'll kick you out. Any criminal stuff is on you."

As Ed climbed the stairs, the man added his last words in a voice that assured it was an obligatory pleasantry.

"Have a nice stay."

The room was dirty, and pretty much in the same condition as the rest of the building. A few transmutations took care of that. With a now much cleaner room and bed, he sat down on the edge of the mattress and began to think.

He was in a foreign country with no contacts, no leads, and the law enforcement of a secret society after him. That last one wouldn't be much of a problem, because as far as he could tell, they only caught up to him when he broke 'secrecy'. As long as he took care to keep his transmutations out of sight, he was fine. But his lack of any sort of knowledge about the world in general beyond what he'd managed to get from an afternoon in a Wizarding book store was concerning.

Goals. Beyond a vague 'restore the balance', he had really nothing to go on. The wizards defying everything about Equivilancy could count, but somehow he doubted that was a solvable problem.

Sinister worldwide plots to commit massive genocide? Maybe. But from what he'd seen on a map, there wasn't a single country that vaguely represented the needed circle. Also, given this world's abysmal understanding of Alchemy, he doubted that was the case.

He briefly entertained the idea of transmuting himself to go ask the Truth personally, but scrapped the idea when he realized he had nothing to trade besides more limbs. He really didn't need more automail. As it was, he'd had to do a touch-and-go job with his damaged foot. The vast amount of things he didn't know about his own limbs had to be substituted for the Stone's power. It had used a lot more than he'd liked.

Thinking about his automail brought his mind in a direction it hadn't touched for a very long time. What were his friends and family doing at home? Were Teacher or Al trying to find him? Were they even still alive? From what he understood of dimensional theory, which wasn't much, time moved differently different places. Which either meant that it could have been five seconds back home or five centuries.

Was Winry still waiting for him?

In hindsight, it was a stupid move to propose right as he went off to what was bound to be a deadly fight. It had been more of a spur of the moment thing. But now he was adrift in the multiverse and Winry was stuck waiting. Again.

"**Stop. You're getting sentimental, and it really isn't that great for those of us who have to sit and watch you do nothing but mope for your girlfriend."**

Edward scowled.

"Well, it's not like you care either way. Truth, they could all be dead and I'll be coming home to Al's great-grandkids for all I know. But all you care about is whether you get your goddamn _kicks_ on your way to _hell_."

His voice steadily rose, until he was standing and shouting the last few words. A thump on the floor and a shout to pipe it down quickly reminded him where he was.

"**Meh. I do care. Kinda. I mean, what's Truth going to do with little ol' me when this is over? I just wanted to point out that what's happening a universe away doesn't matter. So quit moping and let's get back out there to do some searching for wizards."**

Ed sighed.

* * *

Half an hour later found him wandering the streets of northern London, wondering how to find wizards. Beyond the obvious method of attracting law enforcement.

He stopped. Of course! Bait a few out, beat information out of them, and be on his merry way!

He stopped in the middle of the street, clapped, and transmuted a chair. Big gothic style throne, high winged back, plenty of engravings and filigree, flashy lightshow.

And a-one, and a-two, and a-

The air filled with pops as Aurors surrounded him. One of them obviously recognized him, as no attempts were made to get him to arrest.

A spell splashed against the rock just above his head. Edward grinned, and very slowly, very deliberately, blinked.

Pride opened his eyes to a wonderful scene. Fifteen weaklings all set up for him to destroy. Plenty of shadows from the deepening dusk, and a generously transmuted chair to guard his back. Beautiful.

The first and only sign that the leader of the squad got that something was amiss was the insanely wide grin that stretched across the convict's face. Men trapped and surrounded didn't smile like that. Half the team was grabbed from behind before they knew what hit them. And then the shadows opened their gleeful eyes, and smiled malicious, hungry smiles.

Had there been no Muggle-repelling wards over the scene, somebody might have come to investigate the screams. But the Aurors were efficient at protecting the Secrecy, and the wards had been double and triple-layered.

Fifteen broken wands, twelve dislocated joints, seven broken bones, and three sets of soiled combat robes later, Pride the Homunculus exited a side alley with a smile on his face and a bounce in his step. The magic on the Auror team's robes had been every bit as edible as the magic on the Ministry cells.

And now the immortal, implacable, and unstoppable being had a name, and a lead.

_The Leaky Cauldron._

* * *

**And so the storm descends.**

**Sorry this chapter is so short, but I really had to force myself to write this chapter, and it felt like such a great place to leave off. I know it's mainly filler stuff, but I dropped a few plot points in there somewhere. Ish. **

**Don't get all excited though. I wrote because the muse struck, but my plot is still very much in the works. As it is I have the general layout of Harry's second year planned so far. Hogwarts does come back into play. That's all I'm going to say. But no, before I get a thousand people thinking I'm abandoning creativity, Ed is not going to ever be a teacher. Or a student. At this point, I can't imagine how that could work out with half of the Order literally on the staff. Not to mention it's been done about a hundred times.**

**Enough of my ranting. Go back to your reviewing and reading and writing and whatever else it is you people do with your time. See you all in a month or so!**

**-Ambiguity**


	8. The Dealings of Psychopaths

**And so the story continues… No AN this time. Nothing to excuse, nothing to explain.**

**On with the story!**

* * *

Owning the gateway to Magical London meant Tom saw all kinds of types pass through his pub. There were the bright-eyed, eager young Hogwarts students, on their way to buy supplies for a new year. There were shady types who always were hiding something under their robes, glancing shiftily from their dimly-lit booths. The old biddies who came to drink whiskey-laced tea and play poker. The occasional being, passing through and looking for a place to sleep for the night. He'd dealt with goblins, Death Eaters, and drunken patrons able to pronounce far too many curses while inebriated.

But the man in front of him was a whole different matter. He gave off the same feeling as the rare vampire who wandered in. This man knew his place, and it was at the top. Just being close set the barkeep's nerves on edge.

Of course, Tom had made his living for years off of dealing with whatever walked through the door, so he pushed down his nervousness and stepped up to meet the man at the bar. Violet eyes gleamed from under a dull red hood. A gloved hand slid a large pouch across the bar top. That clinking was unmistakable- gold.

"A room for the week."

Tom nodded amiably at the surprisingly human voice. Sure, he talked with the same attitude as a Pureblood of the highest order, but a patron was a patron.

"Of course, sir. Will you be needing any… special accommodations?"

The customer's head tilted in question.

"Accommodations?"

Tom worked over his initial nervousness.

"Do you need anything other than a bed? We have rooms equipped to deal with our more… unique customers, you know. Larger fireplaces, coffins, and so on."

The man grinned. Tom immediately decided people like that should never smile.

"No, just a room."

Gulping, he slid a key across the counter.

"Room forty-two. Breakfast is on the house. Enjoy your stay."

The newest guest nodded once, took the key, and strolled up the stairs, and Tom sighed in relief and went back to polishing a glass.

* * *

Pride found room forty-two quickly. The letters stood out against the wood of the door, unlike some of the other rooms down the hall. Opening the door, he stepped in and took in his new abode.

It was plain, wooden, and dimly lit, but at least it was clean and warm. There was a bed in one corner, a small writing desk with an oil lamp on it, and a few chairs. Not the fanciest, but he'd stayed in worse. It didn't matter to him that he was essentially wasting the couple hundred pounds he'd spent on the 'muggle' side of London; it wasn't his money in the first place. Edward had been given control to pull a bit of gold out of the ground. Traces of it were everywhere, but only an alchemist could really collect gold efficiently. Another transmutation making use of all the carbon in the air dyed their hair black. Pride had then wheedled his way back into control, with the argument that a little intimidation meant a lot less questions.

"**He still suspected something, though. The way he looked at you, he could tell we weren't just some patron."**

Pride mentally shrugged.

'So what? He's not going to do anything about it. Did you hear him, though? A coffin! He thought we were a vampire!'

Pride paused in mid-grin to realize what this meant.

'So vampires exist… huh. Learn something new every day.'

It was too bad that all the shops were closed for the evening. He could have gone and gotten some more books to read. It looked like he was in for another long night.

* * *

Nicolas Flamel burst into the doors of a room that looked like a cross between a Muggle laboratory and a battlefield. Several heads turned to watch the famed alchemist rush past a few ruined lab tables, one of which was still sizzling and melting.

"Fermier!" Flamel grabbed the nearest technician. "Where is Fermier?"

The man, instead of reacting with the usual indignation and shock one might express at being forcefully manhandled and questioned, simply blinked. Not surprising, given who he worked for.

"Lab five. Might want to be careful though. Boss's got some kind of new curse being tested, and-"

KABOOM

The enormous explosion was followed by the back wall of the lab blowing inwards. Everyone in the room seemed quite used to this occurrence, and simply transfigured shields out of the tables, or cast shield charms. From his vantage point, Flamel saw seven variations of the common Protego, and four shields that seemed to be completely unique. The man in front of him had his wand out, all the debris having been diverted to either side by a well-timed blasting curse. Turning back to him, the man continued.

"That'll be him. Just follow the blast holes, and you'll get there. Now, if you'll excuse me, the lab head wanted me to finish this batch of Immolation Philter by Friday. Good day."

Flamel ignored the man's rather abrupt dismissal and walked quickly towards where he assumed was the epicenter of the blast. Finally arriving, he took in the remains of 'Lab Five.' All four walls had been blown out, and only the corners retained their structure. In the center of the room was a man in a long lab coat, an oddity among the robes. His greying hair was thick and unkempt, reaching down almost to the tip of his nose, covering his eyes. All six of them were covered head to toe in soot.

"Fermier, a moment of your time!"

Fermier turned to face Flamel, waving the others aside.

"I think the problem was with the seventh iteration of the _wahdi_ rune in your calculation. Run it back through with John's group; I have a feeling I'm going to be busy for a while."

The researcher grinned at Flamel.

"So, what can I do for you today? Finally got those pictures analyzed? I swear, half a dozen certified geniuses, and another ten who aren't and we still had nothing." Before he could begin to rant, Fermier caught himself and directed his gaze back to Flamel.

"But you. You have something. And you're worried about what it means. And if the Master Alchemist is worried, then us mortals are definitely in danger." Noticing the distinctly uncomfortable look on Flamel's face, he nodded. Theory proven.

"So what is it?"

Flamel took a deep breath and spoke a single word.

"Alchemy."

It really was disconcerting to only be able to see Fermier's mouth. Eyes were the window to one's soul, and without a clear view, Flamel had no clue what was going on in the other's head. And with the head of Research, it usually involved things of ethical questionability.

He appreciated warnings about things like that.

The inscrutable scientist's mouth twisted into a smile. Happiness? Doubtful. Satisfaction, more likely.

"Ah. That makes tracking down our mystery man much easier."

Flamel's eyebrows came together. Sure, he was a whiz at Potions and Alchemy, and no slouch when it came to Transfiguration, but he couldn't think on the same level as somebody like Fermier. Most of the time, he considered that a good thing.

"How so?"

Another smile, this one little more than a smirk. Satisfaction, superiority.

"Well, my esteemed colleague, let me explain a few things to you. During our analysis of his actions via the interviews with the cell guards, the defeated Auror squads, and a few extended hypotheses, we've gotten a basic profile. Number One," He stopped abruptly and held up a finger. Flamel barely managed to avoid flinching.

"He isn't familiar with the government, or at least criminal justice. Upon arrest, he asked for a _lawyer._ Meaning either he expected one as a matter of course, i.e. defendant's rights, or as a matter of privilege. The former implies Muggleborn, as only on the Muggle side of the legal system are lawyers automatically guaranteed to defendants. The latter implies he was a pureblood who expected a lawyer because he's superior and can afford one. We've searched for his general features through every Pureblooded line in Western Europe, but we've come up blank. Combined with what you've just shared with us about his knowledge of Alchemy, that means he's familiar with the Muggle sciences, ruling out Pureblood altogether. Therefore, Muggleborn without an arrest record or training in law."

"Number two. He isn't from around here. Besides the obvious accent and stilted English, the last Auror team that went after him got beaten up for information. He attracted and attacked them, and forced the location of The Leaky Cauldron out of them. Meaning he didn't know the entrance to the main center of magic in the UK. Every child goes there, even if they are homeschooled. It's a rite of passage even the most backwards of Wizarding parents wouldn't ignore. And if he is Muggleborn, as we have already deduced, he still would have been taken there by whoever introduced him to magic. This of course means he isn't from around here."

Fermier stopped his lecture, pausing midstride. Somewhere along the way, he'd started pacing, his stained and sooty lab coat billowing behind him in his brisk turns. A small frown was visible on his face. Confusion, perhaps? Frustration, most likely. He could never get over the unsolvable puzzles.

"And finally we have the most peculiar part of this whole mess. His limbs. They are not only made of metal, for crying out loud, but they're about a century ahead of what the Muggles are currently producing. If his clothes hadn't been torn during the battle to bring him in, they never would have noticed. The right arm, and his left leg. Both working as smoothly as if they were flesh. And both, despite their apparently electronic nature, seem to be fine around magic. He's got some sort of power source on him that ignores the normal overload a magic-saturated environment causes."

Flamel's brow creased in consternation. Not that it didn't puzzle him too, but he couldn't see how this was relevant. Fermier noted his confusion, and explained.

"Let me break it down. This Muggleborn wizard of unknown origins has obtained himself two highly advanced Muggle-made devices that can _ignore magic._ Not deal with it, not put up with, as in the case of EMP hardened materials, but ignore. Somewhere, a Muggle not only knows the Secret as an extension of knowing him, but knows how to work around the limitations Magic places on his or her tech. Do you understand what this means, Flamel?"

This time he gave no time to respond. Even the dullest wizard in the division could figure it out

"This means a Class-Two breach in Secrecy. Not some little Class-One spellfire in a Muggle Area, but active knowledge of the Wizarding world by one or more muggles. And we have no clue who they are or where they are."

Even in his clinically precise tone, Flamel could hear the panic underlying his colleague's words. Fermier spun on his heel and walked briskly away.

"Now, I have to file a report. And push Contingency Delta up a few years. Goodbye, Flamel. I'm sure you have work to do."

It was a very shaken Alchemist who returned home that evening.

* * *

The shadowy figure's well-lit office was seeing quite a bit of use today. First Flamel had dropped in to talk about the pictures, and had been redirected to Research. Then _Fermier himself_ drags himself away from the labs to report in. Highly unusual.

The scientist stood, ready for an indication to continue.

"You may start."

"We have a Class-Two breach."

A sharp intake of breath.

"Class Two? Are you sure?"

"Eighty percent. The other possibilities are that it's a fluke his tech can ignore magic, or that he built them himself. Best to plan for the worst case scenario. There are a few others, but none of them are at all feasible."

The leader sighed.

"There is good news though."

"Really? You found a bright spot in a _Class-Two_ breach that we can't locate?"

Fermier frowned at the sarcasm.

"Well, these limbs of his are like nothing else the Muggles are producing. In other words, whoever is making those limbs is keeping it quiet. For whatever reason. Blackmail, respect, foresight for the chaos of a Class Three. Who knows."

"You do realize that we still need to close the breach."

"Of course. I'll notify Espionage. He's obviously doing something in the London district, given his line of questions at the last group of Aurors. They're looking over those memories now for any extra tidbits we might've missed. If you'll excuse me, I have a curse to work on."

* * *

Pride strolled down the streets of Wizarding London. Really, these people had a bit of a thing for wordplay. Diagon Alley, Knocturn Alley, Hori-Zont Alley, Vertic Alley, Latter Alley, Litter Alley, and so on. Most of those seemed specialized to serve a particular… clientele. Diagon was for the children, Knocturn for the shadier sides of society, Vertic for the 'elite', Horizont sold food, and so on. It was conveniently organized, and made Pride's mission a lot easier. It was the same thing he'd come here for the past three weeks to do.

Research.

In that _prison_, his host had spent most of his time reading Alchemy tomes, learning the techniques and uses for hundreds of types of alchemy styles. One piece of particularly exciting information were the composition of the gloves of a man Ed only referred to as _that Bastard._ He got a hint of a smirk and lots of fire before Ed turned his attention to the next subject. It really was a shame they didn't look up on their new dimension, but hindsight is 20/20, and all that.

It was funny how their system of knowledge worked. Pride could look at a page for a couple of seconds to imprint it in their memory. Ed could then go through their collective memories to review what Pride 'read'. Whoever wasn't on 'body duty' had the job of assimilating the information while the other acquired it. It helped the alchemist had such an organized mind to begin with.

He came to a stop in front of a rather large bookstore, _Flourish and Blotts'_. From his experience, the larger a bookstore, the more books. And the more books he found, the better. So far he'd worked his way through the history section, and had come upon only one hint of anything Truth wouldn't like so far.

Voldemort.

A mass murderer who had appeared and then disappeared within the span of a few decades. Led a group called the 'Death Eaters', fought for 'pureblood supremacy'. He'd found a _lot_ on that second topic, but it sounded mostly like the propaganda in Ed's memories declaring the all-powerful nature of the State alchemists. Very little substance armored by impenetrable layers of tradition and bullshit.

Voldemort had disappeared somehow after an attack on the Potter family on Halloween of 1980. Only the son of Lily and James Potter survived what was widely assumed to be a Killing Curse (Pride made a mental note to look that up later) and was rocketed into instant fame… only to disappear for ten years. He resurfaced at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry last school year, and disappeared again for the summer. A picture of said celebrity was alongside the piece.

'Isn't that the scrawny kid from the castle?'

Huh. And here he thought Truth was screwing with him, putting him down where it had.

Well, maybe it was. But he'd also met the only lead he had on what was going on with Voldemort. Because there was _something_ in that room, after he'd killed Quirrell. The chances of another incredibly powerful being – himself excluded –also happening upon Harry Potter were incredibly small. This place didn't see many 'Dark Wizards' of that magnitude often. So it was likely Voldie was still alive, in whatever ghost form he'd seen.

And if there was one thing Pride knew pissed Equivalence off, it was bringing back the dead.

Bingo.

* * *

**Soo****… a few things.**

**Ouroboros tattoo- A few of you have wondered where Ed/Pride'****s tattoo is. The answer- Pride doesn****'t have one. Seriously. Check the anime. And the wiki. Thus ruining the credibility of any Pride!Ed fics that say he has one. You'****re welcome.**

**Reviews- I love getting them. No question about it. But when you people review as a guest, I can't respond to your questions in person. It breaks my heart.**

**Either you people just don't read the same stuff as me, or I need to be a lot less subtle. Nobody's commented on all the references I'm dropping. Oh well. **

**Fermier is an OC. Get over it. He won't have any huge roles in the story beyond his already obvious role as head of the mysterious Research Division. Unless it wasn't obvious, he's a borderline psychopath with an obsession on the scientific. Think Stein, but magical and less crazy. For those of you who don't know who Stein is, read some Soul Eater.  
**

**This is the last update before the summer draws to a close. That is all.**

**Also! For those of you who assumed I would be solely working on this story, you are sadly mistaken. I am also posting random one-shots, so if you haven't read Comrade Dobby's Report, you should. More will follow.**

**Bye for now!**

**-Ambiguity**


	9. The Less-Than-Subtle Approach

**After hours upon hours of exhausting examination, I have come to a conclusion.**

**Junior year of high school sucks.**

**This is my excuse for all slow updates until sometime in June. **

**ON WITH THE STORY!**

* * *

_Three weeks later…_

Edward was at a standstill. A dead end. Nowhere left to go.

He'd read through almost every book of use in _Flourish and Blotts'_ and had realized he would receive no more information about 'You Know Who.' It was kind of stupid really, the way the books were all written. Every single one of them was filled with speculation and very little fact. The only known details about that Halloween came from one Albus Dumbledore. And there was no way in _hell_ he was going to that old man for anything. Pride would freak out, and they'd end up fighting, and then either he'd kill his only source of info or end up imprisoned again. Neither outcome was productive to his cause.

He'd also gone through a few of the shadier sides of the Wizarding Community and found books not exactly… legal, per se. The things described in there were certainly evil, but they didn't spit in the Truth's face the way that bringing back the dead did. They all required a cost, and were, from what he'd found, extremely painful and/or dangerous. That seemed equivalent enough.

But now that he'd finally exhausted his supply of free, relatively legal information, Ed had reached one conclusion. He'd have to go hunt down the only others who might know where Voldie was hiding out. This might have excited Pride, but the concept of tracking down (supposedly) powerful Dark Wizards and beating highly sensitive information out of their bleeding carcasses wasn't as endearing to him. The main problem was that those who weren't locked away for their crimes had turned around after the war and deeply entrenched themselves in with the current administration. Which meant that launching a one-man raid on their mansions might be looked down upon by the Law Enforcement. His other option consisted of swimming across miles of freezing ocean to an island perpetually covered in storms. And if that didn't sound like the place Automail went to die, there were always the beings that guarded the island, who sounded suspiciously like Homunculi, minus basic reasoning and silly little things like the ability to die.

Assault on a mansion it was.

This is what led to his current situation, balanced precariously on the outer walls of an enormous property in Wiltshire or some such place. A few books on Wardbreaking, a night of practice with the wand he could kind of halfway use, and he was ready to charge in to his doom.

The main plan was to break in during the night, attract as little attention as possible, grab this Lucius Malfoy and use the nifty little Portkey he'd bought from a vendor in Knocturn Alley. Completely illegal of course, but then again none of this plan was really within the bounds of the law.

From what he'd read, most domestic wards couldn't actually keep out a determined enough attacker, but would instead react with pesky things like immolation or electrocution. This meant a Wardbreaker could either pull apart wards to let himself through without setting anything off, or bulldoze straight through and cast as many counters as he could, and let whatever protection he was wearing stave off the rest. The second option was the trick of novices, who couldn't manage the subtlety of a master. Infinitely easier, but much harder to pull off with all limbs remaining.

It was a good thing he came with replaceable parts.

His coat was transmuted in favor of a more protection-suited leather armor set, complete with ultradense carbon-based plating on the shoulders, back and ribs. His pants received similar treatment. The carbon was nearly as good as Greed's shield, and had the added bonus of deterring electricity and fire based attacks. He'd given himself a mask, also transmuted out of carbon. It was plain, with only two slits where he'd need to see.

He pulled up his hood, donned his mask, and prepared to leap from his perch.

As he jumped into the edges of the Malfoy wards, Edward gave way to Pride, whose multipresence would ease the capture of their target. He dashed across the manicured lawn as fast as his legs would allow, swearing profusely the whole way while an alarm blared and the magic in the air sprang to life.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy woke up to a sound he'd never heard before. It was an extremely loud whooping, starting low and ending on a high note before repeating the whole thing over again. What on earth was making that racket?

"Dobby!" he called.

The elf appeared at once, cringing and shuffling his feet. Despicable creature.

"What in the name of Merlin is going on?" he demanded. The hapless elf looked up at Lucius sorrowfully, knowing what was to come.

"The alarm wards be going off, Master. The house is under attack."

* * *

Pride dodged another fireball, tucked and rolled as boulders rose from the ground to crush him and then sidestepped a screaming, flying… thing… that had come hurtling out of one of the upper story windows. Just before it hit the ground, he heard a snap and a _pop_ and the creature vanished. That was a new one. He was only a hundred meters from the nearest entrance- a window- and had so far only lost a hand once. His luck failed at that moment, however, as a few white birds came flapping over the hedges to his right.

Why the hell were there peacocks?

The birds shifted and changed halfway to the ground, talons lengthening and bodies doubling in size. Pride ducked as a stream of acid arced over his head, sizzling as it hit the ground. Not good. He turned back to run for the house, just in time to catch a fireball full in his face. The hapless Homunculus was blasted backwards, armor shredded and smoking. The birds, sensing an opening, dove in for the kill.

Shadows spiked up from the ground, impaling both beasts and pushing Pride to his feet. No time to hold back anymore. He dashed for the window, shadows pushing his feet and shoulders, carrying him as much as he ran. He was impaled by one last beam of concentrated energy from the mouth of a grotesque above the window's frame before he smashed the fine glass, his smoking, sparking frame landing gracelessly on the drawing room floor. Mercifully, he'd been hit in the left shoulder, and not in the automail port. That would've hurt like a _bitch _and been impossible to repair.

As the damaged Homunculus got to his feet, he took stock of his surroundings. Besides the wrecked furniture and the fireplace at the far wall, the room seemed to be empty.

'Time to start phase two.'

He stepped over to a nice dark corner, and let his shadows free. Purple eyes raced along the corners of the room, out the hallway, and Pride was loose in Malfoy Manor.

* * *

The young Malfoy heir was not having a good night. First he'd been rudely awakened by an obnoxiously blaring noise in the middle of the night. When he'd gotten out of bed and made his way to his father's wing, he'd seen Dobby go flying out the window. Young Draco quickly made a judgment call and backed slowly away before his father could notice him in this mood.

No such luck. Just as he'd reached the door at the end of the hall leading back to his wing of the house, his father had come storming out of the master bedroom in a rage. Upon noticing his son, Malfoy the elder had ordered him to assist in searching for an intruder.

And so now here he was, wandering in the dark, mostly deserted halls of his home, unable to defend himself. It wasn't that the Underage Restriction was a problem. That was an issue for Mudbloods and plebeians. He'd left his wand in his room, and wasn't anywhere near brave enough to ask his enraged father if he could go retrieve it.

Nor was he smart enough to ask a House Elf to fetch it.

Suddenly, the boy caught a glimpse of _something_ moving out of the corner of his eye. When he turned to look, all he saw was something purple racing into the room he'd just left. He tiptoed after it, sticking close to the wall. Peering around the corner, Draco came face to face with a floating purple eye.

His screams were quickly stifled.

* * *

It was interesting, viewing the world from Pride's point of view. His many eyes changed how he saw the world, like he was viewing a model of his surroundings rather than from any single perspective. Ed didn't have any doubts about how much control it must take to keep this many eyes going at once, but they were quickly building a map of the entire mansion.

Who needed to live in a mansion this large was beyond him. It was like a goddamn _castle_, dungeons included.

"**Wait, we've got a witness**."

Ed spoke up in the silence in the back of Pride's head. It was a little disconcerting, not really existing physically but still able to see what was going on. Like watching a movie that he couldn't stop. He saw now as Pride's shadows ambushed the kid, dragging him unconscious to where they were.

'Got him. Hostage, do you think?'

Ed mentally grinned at Pride's forethought. A hostage would be good for cooperation in case their target didn't feel like talking. Speaking of which…

"**Pride, where is he? We've got most of the building but the only person we've found was the kid."**

'Yeah, yeah. He's probably hiding out in one of the upper floors like a bitch. Ooh. Found him.'

* * *

Minutes later, Lucius Malfoy was dragged kicking and swearing into his drawing room to face the one who had broken into his home. The stranger stepped forwards and pressed a stone to his chest.

"_Portus,"_ he said.

One breath.

Two breaths.

Nothing. The intruder muttered something incomprehensible and extremely angry before hurling him across the room like a ragdoll. He painfully impacted a broken armchair before tumbling to the floor in an undignified heap.

"I am going to make this quick. I'm looking for somebody, and you know where he is. Then I will leave and we can both get on with our lives. Do we understand each other?"

Lucius Malfoy was many things. He was a liar, a cheater, a criminal, and, at times, a decently competent wizard. He was, however, above all things a Slytherin. So he did what came most naturally to him.

Stall. Deny. Evade.

"I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding," he began smoothly as he got to his feet, scanning the surroundings. Luckily, he still had his spare wand up his sleeve. Turning his body so his right side was angled away from his interrogator, he began to work it out of the hidden pocket.

"Oh, no, I am positive I have the right man. Death Eater, former Inner Circle servant to Voldemort."

The words were spoken without the usual malice that accompanied such accusations. However, that didn't mean he was just going to do a silly thing like _admit._

"Cleared of all charges," he parried with practiced ease. "Now, what would you be breaking into my home for? You don't seem to be after my valuables." A quick glance around confirmed this. Nothing-save the window and smashed furniture- was out of place.

"I told you already. Information."

"Of what variety? I know many things. You could spend days asking me everything I know. And you don't have much time you know." He let a hint of threat creep into his voice. "The Aurors are on their way."

A flippant hand wave.

"Weaklings. Now," It seemed his stalling was at an end. "Where can I find Voldemort?"

That question floored him. His face momentarily registered shock before he regained control of his features.

"Why would you want to know a thing like that? The Dark Lord met an unfortunate demise at the hands of the _hero_ of the Wizarding world. Didn't you know?"

He let the sarcasm slip into all the right words. Distract, evade, deny.

"Don't give me that. We both know that he isn't really dead. So, one more time," Something was pulled from the shadows behind the masked intruder. "Tell me, or your son starts losing fingers."

That damnable boy! He just had to fail at the worst possible time! Sometimes, Lucius wondered if it was too late to try to have another heir. Accidents could happen…

"I assure you, I have no idea. However," he hastily continued, as the _things_ holding Draco up began to constrict, "You might try Little Hangleton. It's a town that was the base of his operations for many years."

Patently false, of course. That was one of the first places they'd checked. But his guest didn't need to know that. He smiled as the wards alerted him to an Apparition request. A mental acknowledgement let them through. Lucius smiled triumphantly.

"And now, it seems, our conversation is at an end."

There was a series of cracks outside as the Auror squad apparated outside the front gates. They quickly rushed in the mansion and burst into the drawing room, wands drawn.

"Freeze! You're under arrest for breaking and entering into the home of a Pureblooded Lord!"

The man turned lazily to the newest distraction. Draco was tossed unceremoniously to the floor a few feet away and the shadowy arms that had been holding him returned to their owner. Lucius saw this as the chance he'd been waiting for. While the Aurors and the burglar stared each other down, he subtly turned his wand arm to point at his target. A few flicks, a muttered incantation, and conjured chains flew outwards, wrapping around their target. The Aurors saw this as their cue to bombard the restrained and startled man with every restricting and binding curse, charm, and conjuration in the Auror rulebook.

As the first lights of dawn were reaching over the hedges, a limp and heavily bound figure was being levitated out of Malfoy Manor. The head of the Auror Squad, one John Dawlish, was conversing with the elder Malfoy.

"Very sorry to be so late, sir. It was hard to get them all up and ready, and by the time they were fit to Apparate without splinching we feared we were already too late."

"Oh, it's quite alright. I'll make sure to speak with Conelius about suitable rewarding you and your squad for such commendable service. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to call somebody to fix the damage, and get the lawn redone."

"Thank you sir. Good bye sir."

* * *

Deep within the bowels of the Earth, a report was received. Plans were altered, an emergency meeting was held, and events were set in motion.

* * *

Edward Elric was, for the second time this summer, hurled into a cell. Just like last time, none of the magic restricting him had been removed. Unlike last time, not all of it wore off in a matter of minutes.

His undignified struggles against the heaps of cord, chains, and ropes that had him practically mummified were done in silence, with only the occasional oath in Amestrian being uttered after a particularly spirited attempt. These invectives became increasingly creative as he got more and more frustrated with his binds, and he finally gave up after a particularly inspired piece involving Black Hayate, an office lamp, and one of the Fuhrer's swords.

"**What about transmuting your way out?"**

'Tried that already. They register the same as the cell. I think it has to do with the 'conjuration' shit they used.'

"**Then let me out."**

Edward sighed. He was tempted to ask why Pride didn't suggest this sooner, but really he already knew the answer. _Because it was entertaining._

"**Bet your ass it was."**

Ed bit back a retort and got down to business.

He took a breath, blinked, and shifted.

Pride opened his eyes, took about five seconds to look around with his now physical eyes, and then summoned shadows to slice through the ropes. The now nearly-free Homunculus had just enough time to stand up, shake out his legs, and turn to the cell ward before he was stunned and bound again by the much more competent guard posted specifically to him.

Edward found himself once again in control of his body, and once again lying immobile on the cold cell floor.

"Well damn."

* * *

"_They've caught him. Again."_

"Of course. It was only a matter of time. He doesn't seem to be the most… inconspicuous type."

"_I'll say. You've probably already heard from whoever's watching Malfoy, but he tried to _break into the manor._"_

"As I said. Not subtle."

"_Should we extract him?"_

"No, not yet. An escape now would just start the manhunt up again."

"_So what are my orders?"_

"Lay low. Try to get a few hairs, maybe some blood if the other guards take to other… questionable entertainment. Contact back when they begin to move him."

"_Yes sir."_

"Good."

* * *

_Two weeks later…_

Edward found himself walking down a long hallway. This wasn't particularly unusual, but the fact that he was covered in chains and had armed guards watching his every twitch was something he couldn't claim to have experience with.

When he had been initially released from his cell to go to his trial, he'd come out fighting like a madman. This got him seven steps into the hallway before being impacted with chains and stunners. The process had repeated itself upon his revival, only this time he decided to play it cool and look for an opening. Unfortunately, no openings seemed to be presenting themselves. They turned off into a room near the end of the hall, and into a large room. There were several rows of benches against one wall, filled with well-dressed men and women.

As he was led into the middle of the room, a hush fell over the crowd. One of the men, a fat, weak looking specimen, stepped forwards and cleared his throat.

"Order. The trial of Wizengamot v. an unnamed offender shall now begin. Rufus Scrimgeour presiding." Ed hated the idiot's voice already.

"You, sir, are charged with repeated abuse of the International Statute of Secrecy, assault on various ministry officials, resisting arrest, various counts of personal and property damage, and attempted burglary on the home of a high-standing Pureblooded member of society. What say you in your defense?"

It took a couple seconds to bring himself back to the present. He'd lost focus somewhere around 'assault' and had begun checking blind spots and escape routes. It was no good, he was surrounded and they'd put him down before he could stand, but it was an enjoyable extended fantasy.

Ed tilted his head to one side as he regarded the lardball in front of him.

"I haven't ever used magic, I didn't hurt the idiots enough, and I think this whole thing is a waste of time."

Mutters broke out, as the seated witches and wizards expressed their varying levels of contempt for the criminal in front of them.

"You don't deny your charges?"

Ed gave his best shit-eating grin.

"Nope." He popped the 'p'. If he couldn't escape, he'd go for pissing everybody off. They were going to find him guilty anyway, so really he couldn't dig this hole any deeper.

A brief debate was held over how long to lock him away for, and a decision was reached.

"Due to the nature of your crimes and the blatant disregard for our laws and statutes you have displayed, your sentence shall be extended. You will serve a term of eight years in Azkaban. One for each of three breaches of Secrecy, two for the assaults, and three for your burglary."

Ed maintained his grin.

"Is that it?"

The last thing he saw before they dragged him out of the room was the impotently glaring face of the prosecutor.

* * *

"_They move him in four hours."_

"Good. That gives us time to prepare the retrieval team and set everything into place. I assume you're on escort?"

"_Yes."_

"Alright then. The team in charge of this one will be in contact shortly. You know the drill."

"_Of course, sir."_

* * *

The first impression Ed got upon waking was cold. Cold and wet. As he woke out of the magic-coma his other senses came to life. Sea-spray in the air. Rocking floor. He was on a boat.

He cracked open an eyelid, trying to get a bearing on his surroundings. There was a cloaked figure in front of him, and another at the… helm, he thought. Boat words were confusing. Pretending to roll over with the rocking of the boat he saw another guard behind him. His hands were still tied, but nobody was paying any particular attention to him.

"Bloody cold out today."

There was a bark of laughter from the one steering at the front-guard's comment.

"Mate, it's _bloody cold_ out every day at Azkaban. That's the point. Dementors keeping it cozy for the prisoners."

An awkward sort of silence followed in which the first guard to have spoken shifted his feet in embarrassment.

"How much longer?" Front-guard asked, attempting to break the silence again.

"A couple minutes. It's hard to see the island because of all the rain and clouds, but it's there. Just a bit ahead."

Ed began his mental count. As soon as they got to the island, the guards would be occupied with getting him off the boat. Since he was supposed to be magically asleep right now, they probably would carry him. That meant their hands would be empty when he struck. A silent, clapless transmutation caused part of the boat to spike up into a tiny blade. He worked his bonds back and forth across it, fraying them almost completely apart.

With a bump, the boat reached land. As the helmsman focused on anchoring the boat, the guard in the rear spoke up for the first time.

"What's with the Dementors?"

The helmsman chuckled darkly.

"Oh, they're always eager to greet a new guest. We usually get a couple curious ones out to meet us every time we bring somebody new. Get your Patronuses ready."

There was a quaver of fear in Front-Guard's voice as he replied.

"Mate, I don't know what your standards are, but that looks like more than a few."

The helmsman finally turned from the knots to see what Ed had mistaken for a cloud of smoke.

"Bloody hell, that's nearly every one of the buggers on the island!"

"They're headed this way!"

"Expecto Patronum! EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

As he heard the guards panicking, Ed decided to make his move. Snapping what was left of his bonds in one swift movement, he stood and prepared to deliver an Automail roundhouse to the guard at his back. He quickly became more preoccupied with the wave of howls that emanated inside of his mind as one of the ragged beings swooped closer. He fell to his knees, clutching his head as Pride said something but was drowned out by the screaming souls of the Stone.

Scenes flashed before his eyes as the Dementors drew ever nearer, some of them from his own life, and some of them from places and times he'd never seen before.

He found himself once again in the Tucker's basement, gazing dumbstruck at the horror that had been Nina.

He was watching, transfixed as men on horses rode through a burning village, cutting down those who tried to defend themselves and laying waste to their homes.

He was at the edge of an all-too-familiar transmutation circle, poised to clap and conduct the miracle that would bring his mother back-

A tattered cloak brushed his face, and Edward Elric knew no more.

* * *

**And let the cliffhanger rage begin!**

**In response to your reviews…**

**A certain lazy anonymous guest- I don't really know. Maybe they need to keep warm? Although cremating bodies would be an alternative use. References… I don't know if I'm being too vague, but they're there. Mr. Grey (Chapter 5) is my own little homage to Make A Wish, one of the best HP fanfics ever. A lot of the other stuff has been pretty vague. Room 42- (as in **_**42) **_**at the Leaky Cauldron, Fermier in Lab 5 (haha, get it?) etc. Little stuff mainly. Just me having fun.**

**But seriously folks. This is it until, like Thanksgiving or something. On an unrelated note, I missed Talk-Like-A-Pirate Day, and that made me sad.**

**Anyway, see you all in a month or so!**

**-Ambiguity**


	10. Interrogation

**You know what I said about Thanksgiving? I lied.**

**ON WITH THE STORY!**

* * *

Edward woke up with a start. The last thing he could recall was the boat ride over to prison. Had he been caught again? Did his attempt fail?

He cracked open his eyes, hissing slightly as they were seared by the light. He squeezed them shut again, then opened them slightly.

Pride was still silent, presumably still out. That just left him. Hopefully he wouldn't need the Homunculus to escape- wherever this was.

As his eyes slowly adjusted to the light, he registered plain, white walls. Not too much to take in, just a door on the opposite end of the room, and a desk he was currently seated at. Everything within his fairly limited transmutation range seemed to be Alchemy-dead, and his arms were bound to his chair with good ol' ropes.

Interrogation room.

The door opened and a man walked in. At least, he assumed it was a man, as the all-concealing hood made it a bit hard to tell. The interrogator took a seat across from him, and pulled out a few files. He/she shuffled them around for a bit, flipping through them. Craning his neck, Ed caught a glimpse of himself, looking quite badass, in combat in the middle of a street.

"So."

The word broke the silence, and also gave Ed a bit of a start. He'd expected to be ignored a little longer, for them to draw out the tension. He quickly thought of a counter to give him his balance back.

"So you _are_ a man. I was a little confused."

Admittedly, it wasn't a very _good_ comeback, but he got a twitch out of his opponent, so he counted it as a point to him. His captor ignored the outburst and continued.

"You, sir, have been responsible for the injury of over a dozen Aurors, the Obliviation of countless muggles, and so much collateral it makes my head spin."

Ed considered that rather harsh appraisement of his accomplishments over the last month and a half. He couldn't really argue with it.

"I do have that tendency, yes…"

"We've noticed. Now, I'm betting you're wondering why you're not in Azkaban."

The alchemist paused to consider that one for a second. Why _wasn't _he in Azkaban?

"After the Dementors of Azkaban rushed your entourage, your guards were overwhelmed. While they managed to save themselves, they were unable to protect you. You attempted to escape, only for a Dementor to perform the Kiss and take your soul. Your soulless husk is now residing in a secure ward at St. Mungo's and in a few days will meet with an unfortunate accident involving a vanishing charm."

Ah. That didn't sound good. He'd been disappeared. These kind of shadow games were always Mustang's strong point. Maria Ross being a prime example. Ed had always preferred a pummel first, ask questions if/when they regain consciousness kind of approach.

But seeing where that had landed him, maybe the Bastard had a point after all…

No. Bad. Mustang is never to be told he's right, even if he is. A mental admission is one step down a very slippery slope.

Now. Where was he? Oh, right. Disappeared. Death faked, no longer exists. Which meant either they really needed him out of prison for good, or the things about to happen to him were the kind that needed to not be investigated.

Either option didn't sound so good to him.

The man across from him was still waiting patiently for a response, obviously prepared for the silence that would follow an announcement of one's official death.

Snapping back into focus, Ed peered at the hood, trying to get a glimpse through the all-consuming darkness underneath.

"So, I'm dead. So what?"

A tilt of the head was the only indication of incredulity he received for his blasé response.

"So what? You're not concerned about that? That everyone who knew you thinks you've kicked it?"

Ed shrugged.

"It's not like they didn't already think that. This just means that the police I've beaten up won't be coming back for more. All this means is my eventual death won't be coming from you people."

"And you arrived at that decision how?"

"Oh, come on. Nobody goes through this much trouble to kill somebody."

"Point. Now, we've got somebody coming to ask you about your… talents, and then you're free to go."

The alchemist quirked an eyebrow.

"You mean you made me a body double, abducted me from under the noses of the government, and faked my death just to ask me questions?"

"Well, yes. That is our job, you know. Now, it seems Fermier is here, so I'll be leaving. Do try not to antagonize him."

The robed wizard rose and walked out of the room, only to be replaced by another figure.

"Really? A lab coat? Somebody's going for the mad scientist look."

He was rewarded with a slightly annoyed frown.

"I'll have you know that I like my lab coat. And it's not like you can talk. Your criminal description on all the Auror reports specifically included 'tacky red coat'."

"MY COAT IS FINE!"

"I'm sure. Now, seeing as the translation charms seem to be working, why don't we begin. Where did you get your mechanical limbs? And how do they ignore the magical oversaturation effect?"

Ed blinked.

"The who what now?"

"Magical saturation. The reason that electronics don't work with magic. The ambient power floods the batteries and they fry the circuits. I thought every Muggleborn and their dog learned that one at some point or another."

The condescending tone of voice was starting to get to him.

"A friend of mine built them. They don't explode or whatever because they don't use batteries. They work off of my nerves."

Fermier's eyebrows rose.

"Your _nerves?_ But that would mean… Oh, your friend is certifiably _insane_. A genius, but insane!" Fermier leaned over the desk and stared straight at him.

"But don't think I'm letting that one go. Who is your friend? The muggles don't have anything like this, and I'm certain it's not Wizarding design. Enchanted peg legs," he snorted "are cutting edge by wizard standards. A muggle built those limbs, and I want to know who."

"Why do you care so much?"

He was favored with another _look_.

"Given your skills with Alchemy, it's quite obvious you're not stupid. I'm rethinking my Muggleborn hypothesis, as well. Because if you were, you'd be in any of the numerous files we have on every Muggleborn in Europe. None of the leads we took up in Asia or the Americas were useful. Not to mention the fact that somebody of your caliber would have had an apprenticeship somewhere, but none of our sources have ever heard of anybody like you. So, while you're here and I can interrogate you freely, where _do _you come from?"

Ed scowled.

"I see. And your rather unique healing capabilities?"

He began to wonder in a small, detached portion of his mind if he could refract his glare through the man's glasses and burn his face off if he tried hard enough.

"The umbra kinesis?"

At the same stony silence, Fermier sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing in exasperation.

"Well, you know how to shut up. That's something, at least." He reached into an inside pocket on his coat, fishing out a syringe. "Of course, that means I've got free reign to study you…"

Edward broke off his attempts at stimulating spontaneous combustion. The expression on the scientist's face was unnervingly similar to the one Tucker had right before he transmuted Nina, or the way Kimblee looked when he was about to make something detonate. That was the look of a more than slightly unhinged fanatic. His thoughts of maybe speaking up were cut short by a painful pricking in his shoulder, which lasted for only a few seconds before fading.

"Well, now. Aren't you a curious one. This isn't blood."

The man was gazing at a syringe full of viscous red liquid, only not blood red, but a brilliant, crimson hue that seemed to light itself up from the inside-

Fermier's eyes widened in surprise (recognition?) before he turned and walked briskly out of the cell. The door slammed shut to the sound of shouted orders and Edward was left alone to his thoughts.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy reclined in his study, sipping Firewhiskey and thinking hard. It had been over two weeks since the assault on his home, and though the manor was repaired, his peace of mind was shaken. Somebody, somewhere was looking for the Dark Lord. They were fanatical enough, with resources large enough to send monsters like that _thing_ out searching. Dark powers were stirring, and he knew, no matter how many bribes bought his innocence and turned blind eyes, he was quite literally a marked man.

He needed something, some act, some gesture of loyalty to the old regime. Subtle enough to leave room to escape blame, but high profile enough to be a good show. In essence, the perfect Slytherin plot. As his eyes drifted restlessly around the room, they came to rest on a worn, battered book resting innocently on the bookshelves.

Yes, that would do nicely.

Lucius Malfoy reclined in his study, sipping Firewhiskey and plotting as only a Malfoy could plot.

* * *

"**So what'd I miss?"**

'Nothing really. They've faked my death, and want to know where we come from, what the Automail is, that kind of stuff. Also, some scientist took a blood sample and I think they recognized the Stone."

"**So we should be getting out of here then."**

'Yeah, I'd have tried already if I wasn't sure there were guards watching us right now."

"**Alright. I'll take over then. By the way, you need to get captured less often. It's really kind of pathetic."**

Ed's attempt to make an angry retort was cut off as Pride seized control of his body.

* * *

"Flamel! I've got something you might be interested in seeing!"

The ancient alchemist raised an eyebrow at the frantic tone in the usually impassive scientist's voice.

"Really, now. I hope it won't cut into the time I get to have to speak to our guest."

As the grey-haired wizard reached Flamel, he held up a syringe full of what at first glance appeared to be blood in the dim lighting.

"Funny you should mention. This is a blood sample I just took. Tell me what you think."

Flamel held the tube up, squinting at the contents, which were looking disturbingly familiar…

"So that's where my Philosopher's Stone went."

Fermier nodded grimly.

"That's what I thought. It would explain the healing, too."

He stepped over to a mirror which was currently displaying the view from inside the interrogation room. The captive was reclining in his chair, seemingly lost in thought. A wave of a wand brought up the running diagnostics on the health of the room's occupant.

"Heartbeat, zero. He looks like he's breathing, but he's not actually using the oxygen. Our mystery man is, for all intents and purposes, dead."

"Except he obviously isn't."

"Well, yes, that is the problem. He still possesses his soul and magic, and he's obviously not decaying- quite the opposite in fact, he isn't even losing skin cells. He isn't any sort of Inferi, magical construct, or conjured being. What we have here is a perfect human."

Flamel turned to his colleague and frowned questioningly at the wording. Fermier caught his look and shrugged.

"Honestly, I'm not sure what else to call it. He isn't aging, isn't decaying, he isn't _changing._ I'd even go so far as to conjecture he'll live forever, barring being killed, which we've seen proven is easier said than done."

"Do you think this is a result of incorporating the Stone?"

"Maybe. The non-decay seems to be similar to the effects of the Elixir of Life, however I'd hesitate to say it for certain. One thing's for certain, though. He's the most interesting thing I've had to study since we gave up on the Veil."

As if on cue, the observation mirror's image went blurry, flashed numerous alarming colors, and went dark.

"Do you want to head down there, or let security handle it?"

"Ah, I'm old. Let's take our time, and give those youngsters a bit of a head start."

The two geniuses turned and began to walk—slowly—to the interrogation room.

* * *

Pride barreled down the corridor, shadows trailing just behind him. Another group of robed flunkies stepped out of a door, only to have their arms lacerated and wands sliced. They, like the others, disappeared as he rushed past, presumably Portkeyed to a medical bay. He rounded a corner to come face to face with an unfortunately familiar face.

Fermier.

"I must commend you on your escape. This is one of the most heavily warded areas in Britain, and that room particularly so. Although, I suppose, given your abilities, all that meant was another meal."

In lieu of a response, Pride's shadows rushed forwards ahead of him, aiming to add to his list of casualties, and was caught by surprise when Fermier vanished, only to reappear a few feet to the left. The spiraling shadows tore into the ground where he had stood just a few seconds ago, ripping up the stone floor.

"Flash step. Also known as line-of-sight teleportation. Developed by the combat mages of Japan in their Feudal age. Quite useful, don't you agree?"

Pride didn't respond, and he instead rushed past Fermier, more blades covering his retreat. The infuriating wizard appeared in front of him again, raised his arm, and cast.

"_Lumos Gladius!"_

A beam of light appeared from the end of his wand, lengthening and widening until Fermier was hefting a rather impressive luminescent broadsword. He lifted the sword and Pride's shadows shrank back.

"Do you like it? I developed it myself after reviewing the memory of you fight with Auror Moody. Completely harmless physically, of course, but quite effective for countering your umbra kinesis."

He deftly swung the blade, cleanly slicing a venturesome shadow in two. Pride bit back a yelp as the feedback gave him a jolt of pain. He didn't even know it was possible to do that, let alone that it would hurt him!

"**Let me take him. He's got you at a disadvantage with that sword and there's plenty of material around here that I can actually transmute."**

Pride glared at Fermier warily, waiting for his next move.

'No. I can take him.'

"**Are you insane? He's got that fucking sword and you can't touch him!"**

The Homunculus didn't respond, as he was too busy trying to be caught in the barrage of spells Fermier was shooting from his wand, which apparently could keep the sword going and cast at the same time. He threw himself into a door off the main hallway just as a fireball roared past, setting the edge of his coat on fire.

He picked himself up out of the debris of the door just in time to roll out of the way of a nasty off-white spell, which crackled and hissed on contact with the wood. Fermier stepped through the remains of the doorway, pausing only to tap on the wall next to the opening, lighting up the entire room and destroying the last of Pride's blades just before they reached him. Fermier dispelled his now-useless sword and pointed his wand at Pride.

"Nowhere to run, no way to fight. End of the line."

Pride was furious. Not only had he _failed_, but this human—this _worm—_had the sheer _audacity _to _mock _him! HIM! He was a Homunculus! The pinnacle of evolution, the superior being! Brought low by some loon in a lab coat!

It was the slightly manic gleam that appeared in his opponent's eyes that warned him, right before Pride gave an animalistic snarl and lunged, metal fist cocked back and aimed to smash into Fermier's face-

"Stupefy."

Pride managed to look both angry and puzzled at the same time as he collapsed forwards like a puppet with its strings cut, faceplanting right at the Unspeakable's feet.

"Well, that's that."

He turned and strode out into the ruined hallway, searching for somebody to help him move the prisoner back into his containment cell. They'd need to change the ward structure, conjure a thicker door, the works. As the buzz from the one-sided battle wound down, he felt a niggling doubt in the back of his head. Now what could he be forgetting?

An arm wrapped around his throat as something sharp and metal was held to his back.

"Oh, that's right. Multiple personalities. Needed to stun you twice."

"You sound awfully casual for somebody who's about to get his spinal cord severed."

Fermier couldn't help it. He chuckled.

"You know, we've been keeping tabs on you ever since your visit to Hogsmeade. And while you've committed everything from petty shoplifting to assault and battery on law enforcement, you've always had one thing in common."

"Oh?"

"You never kill. Not once, even in a pitched fight against an entire Auror squad. That's a strong set of morals you've got there, and I'm certain you won't be able to kill me in cold blood."

The arm around his neck loosened somewhat, but the blade remained.

"Fine. I won't kill you. Just tell me what I want to know and I'll be on my way."

"That's funny. I seem to recall those words being spoke to a certain Lucius Malfoy as well. Remind me how that particular scene ended again?"

"How-?"

"Monitoring cluster. Slapped it on you in Diagon Alley, right on that metal shoulder of yours."

The grip around his throat left completely as his captor reached for the spot. Fermier twisted, silently firing off a minor bludgeoning hex, creating space for the binding jinx that followed right behind.

"Oldest trick in the book. Right up there next to the good old 'look out behind you'."

The tables turned, his captive glared up from the floor.

"Now, seeing as you're so eager in the pursuit of knowledge, and I really don't feel like wasting time on improving your cozy little room, I've got an offer for you."

A single golden eyebrow was raised in question.

"…Continue."

He let his mouth widen in what he hoped was a welcoming grin and not his usual psychotic smile.

"Join the Unspeakables."

"What?"

"You heard me. Join us. Someone of your skills would be useful with our field ops. Or Espionage, given that little shadow trick with the eyes. It'd let me study you in a mostly non-invasive manner, and best of all, you get to satisfy that thirst for knowledge you seem to be harboring!"

The silence was only broken by the sounds of dust settling and the pounding of feet in the distance.

"Honestly, if you had cooperated with the questioning, we'd have asked you anyway. This is just me asking you before backup gets here and I have to waste another day designing a wardless cell."

"You'll let me look for what I want to know?"

"Well, the pursuit of knowledge was kind of our mission statement back in the day. We've branched out since then, but sure, we'll let you research whatever you want. Within reason, of course."

The footsteps grew louder as the remaining Unspeakables on the security detail drew closer.

Edward sighed, halfheartedly tested his bonds, and ran a few mental scenarios.

"I'm in."

**And here we are—chapter 10 an entire week before I promised! Aren't I awesome? And yes. Ed is now an Unspeakable. Funnily enough, this seems to be the only story with an Unspeakable!Ed. Or with Ed as any part of the Magical Government. Of course, given his lack of tolerance for bullshit, that's understandable, but since the Unspeakables are so ill-defined by their very job description, it's a wonderful sandbox for me to build some castles in.**

**Acknowledgements go out to ENSIGN's ****The Innocence of Guilt ****for the Unspeakable inspiration. May it update someday.**

**And now, an explanation/apology that most of you should skip. I apologize for making an AN so long, but this is something that needs to be cleared up.**

**It has been brought to my attention that Edward Elric has been portrayed in this story as, well, weak. He has won a grand total of one (1) fights so far in this story (correct me if I'm wrong) and has lost too many times to count of the top of my head. And yes, this might seem a little OOC to those of you used to reading stories about the Fullmetal Alchemist being the best fighter ever against the physically weak wizards. But let's take a look at Brotherhood.**

**If we take a casual flip through the series, we see, time and time again, Edward getting his ass handed to him routinely in almost every major fight.**

**Ed v. Mustang. This isn't actually a part of the Manga timeline, but rather an addition between chapters 12 and 13. But if we take a look, Ed loses. Pretty badly, in fact. Mustang spends the entire fight chasing him around with explosions, and honestly could have ended him at any point if the fight was serious.**

**Ed v. Scar? Not only did Al get blown to pieces in what should have been a double-team, but Ed's arm got ripped apart and if it weren't for the timely interference of Colonel Useless-in-that-Scene and Hawkeye and some nameless soldier flunkies, the series would have reached a rather abrupt conclusion following the deaths of the Elric Brothers.**

**Ed v. Greed. It's kind of hard to tell how that would have turned out- Ed did bust his arm (again.) but then the soldiers did show up before the fight could end. And given that Greed was kind of relying solely on his ultimate shield—Ed was faster and at least just as strong—Ed might have won. Of course, only Ed was playing for keeps, so there's that.**

**Ed v. Kimblee- Do I even need to explain this one? Steel beam through the stomach? Had to beg two former enemies to dig him out? Spent days in a clinic? Ring any bells?**

**The only fights he's actually out-and-out won in canon were against either severely crippled enemies, like Pride or the Father, or enemies who he severely outclassed either in alchemy, physical skills, or both. All of his victories were against close-ranged fighters, or in the case of Cornello (and can we really call that a fight?) in close quarters, where Ed has the advantage due to his combat training, alchemy style, and metal limbs. None of his victories, again barring Cornello, were against alchemists.**

**For all his badassery, Ed's got a long way to go before he's as great as we all think he is.**

**All in all, it's a pretty pathetic showing. The series was more an in-depth look into things like morality, humanity, and the like than a story about a hero who wins every fight. Add that to the fact that in HP!verse he's basically facing a bunch of people with the range capabilities of Mustang, with a wide variety of attacks, and it's easy to see why he's been so easily beaten.**

**Not to mention that in every fight he's lost so far he's been outgunned, outnumbered, overpowered, surrounded, or, most commonly, just plain underinformed. That said, Ed's loss of these fights do develop him and Pride as characters, and move the plot forwards. They're not just me bashing on Fullmetal. I do enjoy these kinds of debates, and your input really makes me think sometimes. Thinking is fun.**

**I hope you take this into consideration, and if you have further comments or questions, drop a review! I love reviews!**

**End rant.**

**-Ambiguity**


	11. Induction

**And then there were eleven. I have two rather embarrassing admissions to make before we begin, though. I'm actually surprised that nobody's called me out on this, but I guess that would just have been worse.**

**In the manga, Ed actually doesn't get rid of his arm for Al. Somehow, his Gate is good for the whole deal. Also, he never proposes to Winry until after the Promised Day, when he's heading out west to Creta. Either way, I can rationalize the arm and the Winry thing won't actually be mentioned again, so it doesn't impact the plot beyond giving Ed something else to feel bad about.**

**Let's just say AU and move on, shall we? **

**ON WITH THE STORY!**

* * *

In an easily recognizable, well-lit office, a Head Unspeakable Croaker sighed, his hand moving to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that his hand disappeared into the shroud of darkness that masked his entire face, rendering the gesture hidden.

"You recruited him."

Fermier stood opposite of his boss, unconcerned with his superior's exasperation.

"Yes."

"Because you didn't feel like designing a new cell."

"In my defense, it would have taken the better part of a _day._"

"Fermier. You regularly spend weeks at a time researching. Why is one day so important?"

"Because it was unnecessary. He's been recruited."

"_Yes, _you recruited him. _Without_ any actual permission. Why?"

'He' cleared his throat.

"You know, you can stop pretending I'm not here."

Both Fermier and his superior continued without giving Ed any recognition.

"He's a dangerous unknown with a massive superiority complex and a penchant for mind-blowing amounts of collateral."

"He'll fit right in with the other Operatives then."

Another long-suffering sigh.

"Fine. I give up. You win. But," he suddenly added, hood twitching sharply, "_you_ are responsible for him. I don't want that awful toad coming down here complaining about one of _my_ men again. We're treading a fine line after that debacle with the Tasers."

"Good, I knew I would, I understand, and I refuse to apologize until they do first."

"Fermier…"

"Well, he _did_ start it."

"Just- no. Get out. I'm not having this argument again. Take him with you, give him the orientation, and remember that he's yours now."

Fermier nodded, turned sharply on his heel, and walked briskly out of the office, Ed in tow. The Unspeakable led him down a few corridors, through a door, and then stopped in the middle of yet another empty, dim hallway. Turning to face Ed, he leaned against a wall and frowned thoughtfully.

"Well. That went well."

"It did?"

"Yes. It did. You're unofficially an Unspeakable, officially just an employee or apprentice or whatever of mine. Speaking of which, I never did get your name."

Those two statements had nothing to do with each other.

"Edward Elric."

"And?"

Ed frowned in confusion.

"What do you mean, and?"

Fermier smiled slightly. Mockingly. He was getting more and more like the Bastard all the time.

"You aren't just one person. There's two of you in there, that's why the Stunners don't work."

Oh.

"He's Pride. Still out from the… stunner. Probably going to be mad when he wakes up."

"That's an interesting name. Just Pride? Is the name symbolic?"

Ed blinked.

"Um. Yes?"

Fermier regarded him in silence for several seconds before launching back into speech.

"Right. So. Welcome to the Unspeakables. Officially, we're just a bunch of boring researchers who lock ourselves away in the Department of Mysteries. Unofficially, we're the badassest motherfuckers in the building."

Ed wasn't quite sure whether the translation charm was failing or not.

"Come again?"

"Sorry. Always wanted to say that, but they never let me do the introductions. Something about permanently scarring the recruits." He didn't sound very sorry.

"Anyways, here's how it goes. The Department was founded on the principle that magic needed to be understood, and spells need to come from somewhere. Before, people were making them in their homes, which is a bad idea for a number of reasons."

A distant explosion made the hallway shudder.

"Like that. Probably another misplaced _wahdi._ I keep telling them, and they never learn. Anyway, our main gig is the research. Exploration into unknown aspects of magic, analysis of artifacts, that sort of thing. Anyways, that setup lasted about four centuries before a guy named Grindelwald came along. Before him, Dark Lords were about a centennial occurrence, and never did more than conquer a small swath of territory before some do-gooder put them down."

Fermier paused for no reason other than what seemed to be dramatic effect.

"But Grindelwald, he dreamed big. He cozied up to Hitler, got himself involved with the Nazis and the Thules and before you knew it there was an army of German wizards taking magical Europe by force. Now, everyone was in a panic, so virtually every facet of the Ministry turned to combat. Some politician remembered that we were down here, and they asked us for weapons-grade spells."

He took another pause and smiled.

"Of course, the Department didn't really like being told what to research, but they couldn't very well say no, so they did. But on the side, they started up the other two sub-branches of the Department—Espionage, and Operatives. Like MI6 for the muggles, only better. We had spies retrieving the latest research notes and artifacts being developed in the German labs, and strike teams destroying secret bases. The whole thing was developed internally, and when the war ended, they didn't see any reason to stop. So now we spy on everyone else, monitor their magical research, stomp anyone we catch going too far into the Dark, and generally operate in secrecy."

He spread his arms out to the side in a halfhearted welcoming gesture.

"Welcome to the Department of Mysteries."

Ed frowned in distaste.

"Wait, so you're _government?_"

Fermier dropped his arms and shook his head.

"No."

Ed sighed in relief. He didn't need to end up in another Dog of the Military position.

"_We_ are government. You included, now that you've joined. You work for me, who works for Croaker who works for the government. Ergo, you work for the government by extension."

The newest Unspeakable groaned. Mustang all over again.

"Anyway," His new boss continued, "You need the basics beyond the history lesson."

He began walking, back the way they came. Ed was pulled through the nearest doorway and found himself in a large circular room.

"But didn't we just…?"

Fermier nodded.

"Yes, we came here the long way. The spellwork's quite ingenious, designed by some old wizard who didn't feel like walking all the way to his office. As long as you've got the clearance, any door can lead anywhere in the Department you want it to. You can always still go the long way, but most people only ever use this entrance and the main rooms. For example," He turned to one of the closed doors, and put his hand on the knob.

"To anybody outside of the Unspeakables, it's a locked door. But to an employee…"

The door was pulled open, and Ed received the odd sensation of looking at his own back from across the room. Turning around, he saw Fermier wave to him through the door on the opposite side of the chamber. He spun back to see the same wizard closing the door in front of him.

"It's a bit strange at first, but useful if we need to get anywhere in a hurry. Or, Merlin forbid, we have an intruder."

"I'll show you to the areas you'll need, and after that it'll be up to you to explore in your break time."

The door opened again, this time to what seemed to be a medieval armory crossed with an arsenal. A few robed men and women sat at tables around the room, laying out weapons and picking them up.

"This is, as you've probably guessed, the armory. We have a quota for object creation for all the Unspeakables in Research, so the place is always well-stocked. Swords, knives, combat robes, good old-fashioned chain mail, and, of course, guns. Most wizards stick to their wands and blades, because bullets are practically useless against a decent shield spell, but they're indispensable if you're going up against creatures."

Fermier walked around the room, gesturing to the various arms and armors, and discreetly palming small blades, catching a few dirty looks in the process. He finished back by the door he'd started from, and opened it up again.

"You'll only get armed up here if you're going somewhere outside the Department, or if you just want some extra protection. Of course, we'll need to get nonenchanted gear, you'll drain any runed clothes we give you."

Pulling Ed back into the door, Fermier waved at the general area of what seemed to be an empty room. Two Unspeakables were standing in the center, flinging spells back and forth at each other at an incredible pace.

"This," he said, "Is an empty room. We use it for duels, target practice, the like. Most Operatives come to one of these in their free time to work off energy. This particular one isn't made of conjured material, so you'll be able to transmute in here."

He turned on his heel and they left the room, walking this time into what looked just like a regular office. It was also nearly abandoned, with only a few robed men and women sitting at desks writing.

"These are the offices, where we rarely spend any time. The only time you'll ever use one is if you're drawing up a report, otherwise they're pretty much abandoned."

And back through the magical door.

"The briefing rooms."

"The detention block."

"The laboratories, this is where the majority of the Unspeakables work."

"And finally, the door out."

Fermier stopped and gave a mock-bow.

"That, my newest underling, was the five-Knut tour. I'll be seeing you."

Fermier turned, opened the door, walked through and shut it behind him. A confused and slightly annoyed Ed opened the door, only to see an empty hallway stretch out in front of him. Teleporting doorways, indeed.

* * *

"**So what now?"**

Ed gave a start.

'How long have you been awake?'

"**About since the time in the head honcho's office. Unspeakables, huh?"**

'They seem to be our best bet for information. Besides, there's always the off chance one of them might know how to remove the Stone."

"**I'm going to ignore the fact that you've just blatantly disregarded my potential destruction in favor of reminding you about your method of travel back home. Not to mention that this Stone **_**is **_**you."**

Ed blinked. Right, he'd forgotten about that.

The door in front of him opened again and a positively _ancient_ man stuck his head out.

"You're Edward Elric?"

Ed nodded, nonplussed.

"Fermier just left you here, then?" The man snorted. "That's just like him. Too wrapped up in his own projects. Come with me, I have a few questions for you."

The doorway led into another laboratory. Doing a three-sixty, Ed took in the circles, the glassware, the scattered notes.

"This your lab?"

The old man nodded.

"Then you're the 'sources' Fermier was talking about?"

He received another nod.

"I don't actually _work_ for the Unspeakables, you see. Too risky, can't have somebody so notable involved with the Department. But they keep the lab for me in case they ever need some consultation."

"Notable?"

The wizened alchemist turned to face the newest Unspeakable.

"You don't know who I am? You're an alchemist, for Merlin's sake, there's only one alchemist who ever achieved any sort of fame." Seeing Ed's still-clueless face, he threw up his hands in exasperation. "Nicolas Flamel, of course!"

"Never heard of you."

"What! Never heard of me? Did you learn Alchemy under a rock? I'm _the_ Nicolas Flamel! The only creator of the Philosopher's Stone!" Glancing at him sideways, he commented, "Though, given your existence, that might not actually be true."

Well. Of all the things he expected, that was not one of them.

"_You _made that Stone? How were you able to keep it stable without the use of any human sacrifice?"

"Well, you see, once you realize the actual necessities that would facilitate the making of a stone, all you have to do is find magical creatures with the suitable-"

Flamel's voice cut off as his eyes widened in shock.

"**Smooth. Could you have broken it to him any better?"**

"H-Human sacrifice! You made your stone with _human lives_?"

"No. Someone else did. I stopped him from making more."

"Ah." The master alchemist gazed at Ed curiously. "You killed your own creator?"

Ed opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it with a snap. Spending the next few hours explaining a human/homunculus hybrid just wasn't worth it.

"**Although, if we're going to get technical, past-me is the one responsible for our mess, and you **_**did**_** kill him." **

"Yes. In a manner of speaking. It's really hard to tell if he was alive in the first place."

He was rewarded with a pitying glance that made Pride seethe wordlessly in the back of his mind.

"Well, no. I certainly did not kill anybody for my Philosopher's Stone. You see, most potions masters and alchemists assumed that the Stone was directly meant to reverse old age and conjure gold, and so wasted their efforts trying to create something that would have specifically that effect. In actuality, the only thing that the Stone needs is an enormous amount of magical power, and a stable place to contain it. With the sheer amount of power some magical creatures are able to gather and channel, the creation is actually rather simple."

That made sense.

"Enough small talk. Fermier wanted me to go over your abilities and such, make sure we have an accurate file on your capabilities. Most of this is common sense, but I'll ask you anyways. No sense in not double-checking."

A piece of paper was conjured, as well as a pen.

"Am I right in assuming your ability to drain magical power comes from your stone?"

Looking over the paper, Flamel saw Ed nod.

"Good, I thought as much." Was the muttered reply.

"Two personalities. Any differences besides the obvious ego differences?"

"**I take offense to that."**

'Shut up.' Out loud, Ed replied, "Well, I can transmute, and Pride's the one who can bend shadows. Other than that, not much."

"Hmm. Only one thing left, then I'm sending you off for a psych evaluation before we finalize your… employment."

"And the question is…?"

"You have anybody who'd recognize you outside? It would be a waste of our efforts to fake your death if you just went and got spotted again."

"Other than the Aurors I beat up?"

"No, we already got to them."

"Dumbledore?"

Flamel did a double-take.

"Dumbledore knows what you look like."

"Yes."

"And, given that you're the one who took my stone from under his nose, you aren't on friendly terms. Incredible. You made enemies with one of the four people on the entire bloody island that we can't Obliviate."

"Why's that an issue? I'll just avoid him."

Flamel breathed in and out, teeth clenched, nearly audibly counting to ten.

"Dumbledore, you _idiot_, is the leader of one of the most successful spy ring slash vigilante group in the country. He has eyes _everywhere,_ and if we try to go and Obliviate them, he'll know you've got people protecting you. If he catches a memory wipe fast enough, he'll even be able to tell it was an _Unspeakable_ that did the job, and if that happens, we're finished. It isn't one man you're avoiding, you moronic brat, it's half the wizards in the country."

To the elder's surprise, Ed gave a grin.

"Just like old times, then."

* * *

"And he passed his mental evaluation?"

"With flying colors. He does, however, have a few triggers that cause him to lose control."

"Which are…?"

"Any references at all to any form of the word _short._ He's got quite the Napoleon Complex. It's surprising, seeing as he's just under average height."

"Anything else?"

"He tested positive for psychopathy."

"And you still cleared him?

"There _is_ a precedent. His current direct employer, in fact."

"Fermier isn't an indestructible umbra kinetic with anger issues."

"We do have Flamel to keep him in check, though. If this entire thing goes down the drain, then the Alchemist can take care of him."

"Point. Where is he now?"

"Oh, he got assigned a simple introductory job. Just a standard field test, like all the Ops newbies."

"Good. That should be a fair enough test of his abilities. And his control."

"And if he fails?"

"It depends. If he fails the test, we get him some training. If he loses control, then it's standard procedure as usual."

"I understand, sir."

* * *

**Happy 2015!**

**Yeah, this chapter was mostly dialogue. Sorry. Next one will be action-packed for sure. I promise.**

**In other news, now that Llhurgoyf is back from his college thing, he is able to continue to force me to write! I honestly intended to write this before Christmas, but then vacation-induced apathy kicked in, and I spent the whole time playing video games and reading other Fanfiction. And reading Fairy Tail.**

**Anyways, I know I've mentioned this before, but I'll do it again. While all reviews are appreciated, be they simple requests to update soon or lengthy analyses of my writing, if you want your questions answered, you'll have to actually sign in. I refuse to waste space in a chapter addressing questions. And before you all call me out, last chapter's AN was an exception. **

**-Ambiguity**


	12. The First Mission

**Aaaaand I'm back! A little note before we start, I have gotten some reviews pointing out that I'm not very consistent with the syntactical preferences of my characters. In layman's term, I suck at writing dialogue in a British accent and vernacular. Which is a problem when the entirety of this story will consist of a bunch of British people and Ed.**

**So, rather than appear to be a racist, ignorant American, everybody now speaks with an American speech pattern. This way, I don't mess up and write something that turns out to be insultingly inaccurate, and I can stay consistent with my dialogue. Much less hair-pulling on my part, and any accidental stereotyping is avoided. Now, pseudo-ethnocentrism aside…**

**ON WITH THE STORY!**

* * *

Edward Elric sat perched on a windowsill overlooking the silently moving figures below. They all were working in near-silence, passing crates of contraband along a smoothly efficient line to a shadowed corner of the warehouse. He half-turned towards his 'partner' in the mission, a tense-looking man in a standard-issue Unspeakable cloak.

"What are we doing again?"

The wizard sighed.

"We've traced a large number of Class A restricted goods to this complex. The kind of stuff that gets used in the nastier sorts of rituals. We're here to check the authenticity of the goods, and if possible get to the source. You'd have heard all of this if you had _listened_ during the briefing instead of getting distracted every five seconds."

Right. Smugglers.

"Ok, then. Let's go get 'em."

"No, we have to wait until-"

Edward took a flying leap, sailing through the air to plant a carbon-steel left foot neatly on the back of an unsuspecting victim's skull. Springboarding off of the collapsing body, he sent a vicious right hook into the jaw of the nearest opponent, and then dropped low as spells flew overhead. The barrage stopped briefly as two enemies were hit by their comrades' spells, and Ed took the opportunity to explode out of his crouch and jump-kick another two criminals who were standing the closest.

Unspeakable John Doe watched the carnage unfold below, as his assigned trainee systematically tore into the now-alert smugglers. He closed his eyes a moment to compose himself, and then returned to the situation.

"…Or we could just fight our way in."

He snapped off three bludgeoning hexes in quick succession, bowling over a small group that was gaining some cohesion. Between his sniping and Ed's liberal application of blunt-force trauma, everyone in the room was quickly incapacitated.

Dropping down among the groaning criminals, Doe marched up to a grinning Ed.

"What the _hell_ did you think you were doing? We didn't need to fight them, did you even listen to _anything_ I told you? You should have waited until the sleep…ward…activated…"

The Operative slowed down as his eyes widened in realization. And then, right on cue, the aforementioned ward sprang to life, sending all of the warehouse's inhabitants to sleep.

Except for Pride, who came awake cheerful from the acts of violence committed on the premises minutes earlier. Striding over to Doe, he leaned down, grabbed a fistful of the dozing wizard's robes, and backhanded the uptight man across the face.

Hard.

Doe's eyes snapped open, still cloudy under the effects of the ward, before brightening briefly in recognition. A counterspell later and he was on his feet, gingerly rubbing the red mark on his face.

"Sweet Merlin, that hurt."

He glanced over at the innocently grinning Homunculus.

"Weren't your eyes yellow before?"

The smile didn't even waver.

"Yes."

Briefly making a mental note for the mission report, he turned back to the job at hand. Cracking open the nearest sealed crate, he took a step back as a large number of bones, teeth, and claws spilled out, clattering on the concrete floor. Doe reached down and held up a wickedly curved talon.

"Yep. This the real deal alright. Which, of course, just made our job ten times harder."

He pointed his wand at the nearest unconscious body.

"_Ennervate._"

Glancing sideways at his still-giddy partner, he pointed at the slowly recovering smuggler.

"See that? _That_ is how you wake somebody up."

The grin widened.

"Oh, but I don't know that spell."

Doe closed his eyes, sighed, and decided to ask what spells his assignee _did_ know later.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

Twisting back to the confused criminal, Doe reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a small vial of Veritaserum. Three rather forcibly applied drops later and their captive was spilling everything he knew.

"We just pass the crates on! I don't even know what's in them, I swear!"

The leering _thing_ just behind his interrogator might have kept him a little more lucid than a Truth Potion generally would have allowed, but a little encouragement went a long way.

The Unspeakable narrowed his eyes, and then flicked off a _stupefy_ at the terrified man. A few slightly unauthorized portkeys later and all the smugglers were shipped off to the Aurors for processing. He then turned to face his partner, who had not moved a muscle the entire time. As the last portkey disappeared with a rush of displaced air, Pride spoke up.

"So, now what?"

"Now, we report back, and then try to find out where the goods were coming from."

"And stop them?"

"Of course."

Pride walked slowly over to the pile of contraband and hefted a feline skull.

"So," he began idly. "What kind of dark, scary rituals use…" he trailed off, inspecting the rather large feline bones. Picking another up, he experimentally fitted the two together.

"Immature nundu skeletons. And these are the kind that nobody in the right mind would do, as they involve human sacrifice and acts of self-maiming."

Doe received a confused frown.

"So why do they do it?"

"Because the benefits usually outweigh the price. Extended youth, increased power, strength, the works. And because by the time people are at this level, the magic's taken enough of their sanity for them to not give a damn about the costs."

"Ah."

It was really rather astounding, the lack of knowledge Elric sometimes displayed about these things. The Unspeakables never recruited the sheltered types, and he had obviously seen a good deal of combat before signing up, so his ignorance of the general insanity of Dark wizards was rather puzzling.

He shrugged, put the questions aside, and pulled out a mirror. Glancing once at his partner to make sure he hadn't wandered off, he tapped the surface of the glass with his wand.

He had a report to give.

* * *

"_Good work. Given the fact that you're already at the scene, I leave it to you and Operative Elric to trace the source of the goods."_

Doe did a double-take.

"Sir? You did hear the list of the contra-"

"_Nundu bones, yes. Which I am aware means a more organized enemy than we anticipated. And we need to shut it down _now,_ Doe."_

"B-But just the recruit and I? I'll be wasting all my time making sure he doesn't get himself killed!"

"_Oh,"_ The Unspeakable on the other end of the connection chuckled. _"You won't need to worry about _that._ And there is a team of Operatives on standby for when you do find the source. We just need you to look."_

Doe sighed.

"_Remember, you were assigned to him for a reason. That reason is that you're the one who is most capable of putting up with the newbie's bullshit, and from what we've seen of him, this one's got it in spades."_

"Fine. But I want a goddamn vacation when all this is over."

He swiped his wand across the image and the mirror cleared. He turned back to see that his partner had reconstructed several of the skeletons of the apex magical predator and was busily posing them in an epic battle to the re-death.

Despite himself, Doe had to admit it looked pretty damn cool. And then shook himself. He was the _responsible_ one here.

"Alright, new orders in from Headquarters. We need to find the suppliers so a full team can move in and put a stop to the whole thing."

He looked askance at a larger specimen that was in the act of pouncing, front paws already off the ground. It seemed to be glaring down at him, fangs bared and front limbs ready to smash him into a pulp. He glanced sideways where Elric was fitting the skull of another, but found himself unwilling to turn his back on the nundu.

"If I might ask, why did you feel the need to rebuild them?"

The morbid sculptor beamed at his supposed instructor.

"You were busy, I was bored. So, do you have a plan?"

"We wait for somebody to arrive with another shipment, and then we trace the portkey."

"And how do we do that?"

"I cast a ward that reads all the incoming Portkeys. Next time a shipment gets here, we catch the one who brings the goods in, and if he doesn't have a return Portkey on him we make our own."

"Neat."

Doe hesitated, and then decided that was about as good as he was going to get in terms of acknowledgement. He raised his wand and started casting.

* * *

It had taken an entire week of waiting for the next set of contraband to arrive. Seven days of cheap takeout and trying to find somewhere more comfortable to sit while on watch. One hundred and sixty-eight hours of keeping an eye on his attention-deficit trainee who seemed to know the exact definition of respect, if only to be able to flaunt it in as many ways possible. Who was also an insomniac who apparently enjoyed arguing with himself in the small hours of the morning. Who, sometimes, when just in the corner of his vision, suddenly became _larger _and _darker _and had a smile that was just a _little _too wide.

It was safe to say that when the wards finally registered an incoming signal, Unspeakable John Doe nearly cried with relief. Finally, something to break the uneasy monotony that had been eroding his sanity!

It was, unfortunately, over in an instant. A single stunning spell to the surprised man's face, and the next moment they had a location, a list of drop-offs, and the return portkey. A portkey—with convict attached—to the Aurors, a report sent back to the Department of Mysteries, and they were finished.

Elric, it seemed, was unsatisfied.

"Do we _really _have to leave _now_?" he whined, with all the maturity of a ten year old.

"Yes." For the fifth time.

"Fine." Oh thank Merlin he was finally giving in.

"But first," he gestured back towards where the skeletal nundus were still frozen in place.

"I want you to shrink a couple of those for me."

He should have questioned it. He really should have. But with the overall lack of potential for anything dark, foreboding imaginings aside, and the fact that Doe was simply _finished_ and very much ready for his vacation already, he simply waved his wand and cast the goddamn shrinking spells.

* * *

Fermier regarded his protégée with an inscrutable expression.

"You just arrived back from a week-and-a-half-long anti-smuggling mission, and it tends to be normal for long-term missions to be stressful."

Edward tried his best to maintain his composure under the stare. It was really quite unnerving. And Fermier always managed to tilt his head just right to make the light bounce off of his glasses, rendering them opaque.

"What I do want to know, however, is why immediately after returning, one of our best men in Operations made use of every single one of the vacation days he had built up over fifteen years of work with the Unspeakables."

Ed fidgeted some more, before mumbling something quickly under his breath.

"Come again?"

"…I got bored after the second day and let Pride out a bit to mess with him."

Fermier's expression did not change.

"And this is the same Pride who is the self-admitted egomaniac? The one whose favorite word seems to waver between _evisceration _and impale? Who is the driving force behind that most delightful little Napoleon Complex of yours? To be honest, by the medical average you aren't even that sh-"

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SHORT THAT HE WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO WIN A FIGHT WITH AN ANT AND IF HE EVER TRIED TO HIDE IT WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO FIND HIM BECASE HE'S A FLEA SIZED ULTRA—"

Fermier pocketed his wand.

"Silencing spells are so useful, don't you think? Now, I want you to take three… deeeeep… breaths, and think about the impacts of letting the voices in your head do your thinking for you." Fermier said soothingly, mocking the still wildly gesticulating alchemist.

Ed stopped, frowned in concentration for a moment, and then brightened.

"There. Ha! No more magic getting the one-up on me! I'll just eat-"

He was stopped a second time, this time not by a silencing spell but by a banishing charm point-blank in his face. His head snapped back so quickly his neck gave an audible _pop_, and as the rest of his body followed suit he was flung backwards into the opposite wall. He lay there motionless for a moment, red lightning playing around his head and spine. When the sparks died down, he picked himself back up with a well-worn surly expression. Fermier was twirling his wand in between his fingers, still watching him.

"Do you know how the Philosopher's Stone works?"

The question caught him rather by surprise. After all, he'd spent every day since he was twelve chasing the object in question. He recited the passage straight from Marcoh's cookbook. That and it had very little to do with the previous conversation.

"An extremely strong energy-storing compound can be formed using highly complex alchemic processes involving the sacrifice of the souls of the living and the right geological locations. The souls are the main ingredient that helps keep the entire solution stable, as well as providing a massive amount of energy. The old man Flamel said that he made his using magical creatures or some such shit, but I assume the mechanics are the same. Since any given Philosopher's Stone is able to contain a set amount of power, power can be replaced through the application of raw energy such as your magic." He didn't need to even take a breath throughout the whole thing. Hey, there were perks to not needing oxygen.

Fermier's lips quirked in what could have possibly been a smile. Of superiority, of course.

"A simple definition. Your observation, however, falls short when you come to magic."

Ed sat on the floor. He recognized the lecture voice from every professor he'd ever had to butter up for a bit of info on his legendary goal. Not that any of them had had anything useful to tell him that he hadn't heard before.

"Magic as a form of energy falls into two categories. The first, as you just experienced, is active, or live magic. It already has a form and a purpose. You couldn't absorb it into your little battery any more than if you tried to swallow fire. Live magic is what you see in cutting curses, fire hexes, the Killing Curse, that sort of thing. Passive magic, on the other hand, is stored magic. It simply sits and waits to be given a shape. That's how wards are charged, things like a Body-Binding spell stay, and Dark spells resist normal healing techniques. Most lasting spells use a combination of the two, providing a charge of passive magic for the active magic of the spell effect to feed on. You can only drain the passive magic. It's in a form that converts to your alchemic energy quite easily, as they operate on the same fundamental principles. I am telling you this so that the next time throws a Decapitation Curse at you, you don't stand there like an idiot trying to drain the thing."

…That had been a useful lecture. Useful.

"…Because I doubt you'd be able to get rid of the healing prevention effects without a head to operate with."

Very useful.

Ed summed it up very quickly.

"So, no eating the cutting, killing, or fire spells."

Fermier looked at him for a moment.

"Yes. You know what you need? You need a hobby. Something to do between missions, something not involving extended conversations with somebody who's basically yourself. Your friend seems to have reduced your intellect."

Ed arched an eyebrow.

"And what do you suggest?"

The scientist shrugged.

"For a start, given your current employment, I suggest dueling."

* * *

Standing across from Fermier in the large, empty room, Ed felt distinctly less confident than he had back in the small lab room. Sure, a fight was great in theory, until he recalled exactly how all of his previous ones had gone.

"**Oh, suck it up. Every one of those bitches who beat us is going to pay, starting with this one.**"

Pride's cocky remarks were not helping. The wizard standing across from them counted off the start of the fight.

"Three. Two. One. _Reducto-Stupefy-Bombarda-Ventus._"

Ed was allowed all of half a second of shock before the first of the spells made its way directly in front of him. Twisting out of the way, he let it impact some distance away, blowing chunks out of the wall. The red light of the stunner was avoided in a similar fashion. However, he was forced to backpedal quickly when the explosive curse hit the floor in front of him and did what it did best, showering him with dust and shrapnel. The final spell sent the entire cloud of debris straight at him, rock shards and dust swirling together in a cloud of impending pain.

He clapped, reached, and a shield diverted the projectiles. Once the clattering died down and the dust cleared, Fermier resumed the assault.

"_Reducto. Reducto. Reducto, Reducto, ReductoReductoReductoReducto-_"

And his cover was quickly being reduced to rubble. Clapping again, Ed sent the entire slab of earth shooting forwards, dashing behind it and transmuting a pair of blades as he did so. The stone down here was abundant in various metals.

His headlong rush was checked when his cover suddenly flew upwards and he came face to face with his opponent.

"Hello."

The rather large rock came crashing back down, even as Ed lunged forwards to slice at his opponent's wand arm. He knew for a fact from several weeks in the man's company silly things like lacerations took only half a minute's work to fix.

What had been at one point a quarter-ton slab of granite smashed onto the floor of the arena directly behind the both of them as Fermier's spell dropped. They both were sent tumbling away, pelted with sharp rock. Ed, however, was quicker to recover, and as Fermier was staggering upright, he made his move.

Fermier froze when he felt the cold steel on either of his shoulders. Bringing his eyes upwards, he saw the two transmuted swords crossed in front of his neck, one twitch away from a gratuitously bloody death. No point-blank spellcasting here.

"Well. I suppose you win."

The swords were pulled back, and transmuted into the ground it had come from. Edward had a look of confusion on his face.

"Why was it so easy, though?"

Fermier chuckled.

"Well, first off, the first time we fought, I had every advantage imaginable. A narrow hallway, little dodging room, and a counter for your shadow trick. Whereas here, in an actual arena, you have plenty of room, the ability to transmute whatever you like, and the chance to assess my capabilities. That and I am a researcher. It has been _years_ since I've been on active assignment, and exerting myself as much as you do is rather new. You'll find that outside of our organization, most wizards are even less physically capable than me."

Pride was smug.

"**He just all but admitted we lost to him through bad luck. Ha! And we won this time!**"

"…I will, of course, want to have these duels more often. I need to get back in shape, if I lost this quickly."

With the sound of Pride's urging in the background, Ed readily agreed. After all, payback was payback, and the fight was incredibly cathartic. And before he forgot…

"Now, there was something I wanted to ask you about magical animation."

* * *

**Chapter 12! Within a month, too! I have good news and bad news. The good news is that the world shall continue existing, despite all opinions to the contrary. The bad news is that with February drawing to a close, outdoor track season is starting up! For those of you who were around when this fic first started, you know what that means! I will have less time to devote to writing, and so updates will be less consistent. Please bear with/don't murder me. My little spiel on magic is my own personal headcanon, following the lines that magic is energy that is molded for effect. It works, it makes no mind-shattering alterations to the universe, and unless there are any serious flaws in it, I'll stick to it.**

**Questions? Comments? Feeling the urge to send me notice of my imminent demise? Leave a review, and I'll get back to you, assuming you're **_**logged in when you do it.**_

**-Ambiguity**


	13. Ameteur Espionage

**Well. This is embarrassing. I m****ean, I had half of this chapter just **_**sitting **_**on my computer for about a month. But between track, testing, and life, it just never got written. That, and I'm at a bit of a roadblock as to where exactly I'm going with the story. But hey, it's a super-mega double-length update, so that's cool, right?**

**This chapter marks the beginning of a two-part arc to bridge the massive time gap between where it is now, and where it needs to be. Just writing 'months later' wasn't doing it for me.**

**ON WITH THE STORY!**

* * *

Ed strolled through the dim hallways of the Department of Mysteries. Sure, he could have used the magic doors, but actually knowing the layout of a building came in handy. That, and he didn't exactly trust the magic in the doors not to fail halfway and cut him in two. He'd seen stranger things, working with Fermier.

In the weeks he'd been unofficially employed, Edward had realized that even by wizarding standards, his boss wasn't quite sane. But he'd also been reassured that most reasonably powerful wizards had neurotic tendencies of some sort or another.

That wasn't very much consolation when he'd walked into the lab once to find Fermier testing the elasticity of small mammals under various magical conditions.

All in all, it was like working with an even weirder group of State Alchemists. Fermier was constantly breaking the fundamental laws of thermodynamics in multiple ways, Flamel was usually calculating alchemic potions compounds whose equations spread across entire rooms in glowing, floating script. The generic lower-level researchers were all working on various spells, artifacts, and strange beings. Explosions quickly became an ignorable phenomenon.

Everybody in Espionage gave him _looks_. Everyone. It wasn't personal, though. He saw them giving those looks to each other, too. They didn't appear to trust anybody who they hadn't known for years. That entire section of rooms and halls was to be avoided, he'd decided.

And then there were the Operations wizards. Sure, they were by far the loosest out of the three divisions, but they were also the most trigger-happy. He'd seen the same thing in some of the Ishval veterans, if they were surprised too badly. Needless to say, every muted explosion from the bowels of the Research division sent every hand to a wand, sword, or other implement of painful death. Also, the few Operatives he'd dueled in the free time he got between small missions had all been very tricky opponents. It was like all they did was duel and go on jobs.

The one time he'd walked into Croaker's office with the intent to annoy, he'd found himself quite suddenly and violently sent through a door-portal and into Fermier's labs. Needless to say, he didn't try to seek entertainment from that source again.

All in all, there was very little to _do _in the Department of Mysteries, besides explore. And so explore he did. He'd found more than a few doors that wouldn't open for him, and a few more that he'd shut very quickly once he'd seen what was behind them. Tentacled brain chimeras? No thank you.

And now, reaching the end of the hall, he pulled open the door at the end, revealing what seemed to be a library for extremely large marbles. Each one sat on a cushion, and all seemed to be filled with a pale, luminescent mist. Wandering slowly down the rows, he idly read the names on them, all initialed, all from somebody to somebody else, with what seemed to be a topic underneath. Letters, maybe? But why would they be stored here? Was it a record of the Unspeakables' correspondence? The cool silence of the room was comforting though. It was rather peaceful, and he found himself enjoying creating stories for those whose names were on the spheres.

He turned a few corners, walked down a few rows, and then his eyes were caught by a specific ball, nearly directly at his eye level.

_S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D._

_Dark Lord and_

_(?) Harry Potter_

He couldn't believe his luck. All these weeks of pointless meandering, halfheartedly searching for clues of a presumed-dead Dark Lord, and here was something that literally had the names he'd been looking for on it. He reached out, with the intent to bring it back to Fermier for an explanation, but as his gloved palm came to rest on the glass, the sphere lit up like a miniature sun, and Edward knew no more.

* * *

"I can't believe that _fucking idiot!_"

Nicolas Flamel watched impassively as Head Unspeakable Croaker stormed around his office, nearly ripping out his hair as he ranted.

"Four petrifactions! Four instances of some of the most dangerous Dark Magic still left in Britain, and what does the old fool do? He fucking _brushes us off._" Croaker gave a small laugh of hysteria gesturing as he continued his rant.

"I mean, it isn't like we're trained _professionals_ in this sort of thing or anything, _no,_ and besides, if the great _Albus Dumbledore _doesn't want any Ministry 'interference' in 'matters we have no need to be involved in' then who are we mere mortals to disagree?"

He stopped, arms hanging by his sides as he stared at the wall, and sighed heavily. Quite suddenly, his face lit up and he spun on his heel to point at Flamel.

"You. You can go to Hogwarts under whatever pretenses. Talk to him about your supposedly missing Philosopher's Stone, whatever. You've got an excuse that he can't just brush off."

The aged alchemist regarded his part-time colleague with no small amount of weariness. After all, he had just listened to the man vent about this latest obstruction of his duty for the last fifteen minutes.

"And what, pray tell, Saul, might I accomplish with such a visit? We already have the letters from the children, and I'm not sure what it is you expect me to find in an hour or two that the children of your employees don't notice in the weeks they've had to observe the circumstances."

Croaker sat down at his desk again, pouring the latest of numerous shots of Firewhiskey.

"I don't know, Nicolas. Something. Anything." He knocked back the drink in one gulp, setting the tumbler heavily back down.

"You know the stakes we're playing here. Very few people are at Hogwarts that were there for the attacks in the forties, and there's one name on that list that I'd rather double check is absent."

"You don't mean to imply that—" Flamel was cut off by a knock on the door. Fermier poked his head through, and regarded his two superiors.

"Sir, there's been a bit of an incident. You might want to get over to the labs. It's about Elric."

* * *

Pride blearily opened his eyes, recognized his surroundings as a hospital room, and began running an injuries check.

Ribs? Fine. Skull? Undented. Spine? Still intact. Various extremities were all in place, two metal limbs were still attached to his person, and he appeared unharmed.

So why the hell did he feel like he'd been run over by a bus?

As he sat up, the old alchemist and the strange scientist walked in, both silently watching him watch them watch him.

Fermier broke the silence.

"I won't ask what you were thinking touching a Prophecy orb, as nobody told you about the rather negative effects of removing one not meant for you. However, I do want to know why you're so intent on investigating one Dark Lord Voldemort."

Pride glanced away, down at a corner, and began examining the walls. It was a small room, just two beds. Probably just a smaller first-response deal until they could get more extensive treatment at a hospital.

"I don't know much of what the brat was doing, you'd have to ask him. I was just going through memories, wasn't paying much attention to the strings in active consciousness."

Cutting off what was sure to be a question on the inner workings of Edward's mind, Flamel stepped forwards and spoke.

"Then please put him in charge. I want to know why he is hunting a man presumed dead by nearly everyone for over a decade."

Reluctantly, Pride slipped back into the subconscious, and Edward blearily and confusedly looked at his two associates.

"What happened?"

Fermier cut to the chase.

"You were knocked out briefly by some very powerful, very archaic magic guarding the prophesy you tried to take. What I want to know is why you are so interested in the Dark Lord Voldemort."

Ed winced.

'Any suggestions? I can't exactly say that God put me up to it.'

"**Just bluff. You****'re good at that. Say you don't want to talk about it or something."**

"…It's kind of personal. Has to do with my family."

Flamel's expression softened somewhat.

"Ah. I see. Well, if you feel like bringing it up, we-" he glanced sideways at Fermier, then revised his statement.

"-I'll be willing to lend an ear." Flamel took his leave. Fermier regarded Ed silently for a moment, then turned and followed the alchemist out of the room.

* * *

"He's hiding something."

"Of course he is! This is the Department of Mysteries! Everyone's hiding something!"

"No, I mean that he's purposefully avoiding expressing the reasons for his interests in a deceased Dark Lord."

"Technically deceased."

"Yes, yes. Technically. Any thoughts? He could legitimately have family who were hurt by Voldemort, but I doubt that's the whole story. Someone with that amount of power would have been known in Britain, and Voldemort never made it abroad."

"What, you think he's from the original war?"

"Or older. The man's immortal, who's to tell?"

"But back to the point, why would his grudge against Voldemort be a bad thing? If the Dark Lord manages to rise again, Edward would only be a benefit."

"It's an unknown. I don't like not knowing things, and an immortal master alchemist suddenly coming out of the woodwork is definitely a mystery. I. Want. Answers."

"Fine, fine. Do your researcher thing. Just don't blame me if you come up with nothing."

* * *

It took several days before Edward was able to do anything more strenuous than read. Every time he attempted a transmutation, or even to walk, everything would go blurry and dark and he would wake up in the hospital bed again. Pride was unable to detect the magic keeping the spell active, and none of the wizards from Research were able to help.

"The enchantments on the Hall of Prophesies predate the existence of the Statute of Secrecy," Fermier had explained.

"They're from a time when magic wasn't calculated, and spells could go horribly wrong at a moment's notice. On the other hand, magic in general was much more potent, and very hard to counter and unravel. Which puts us in the situation of being unable to identify the source, the effects, or even what you were hit with. The only thing we can do is wait to see when the spell seems to fade."

In other words, nobody had a goddamned clue.

Finally, two weeks into his forced confinement, Ed found that he was—finally—able to move again. Fermier responded to the good news by giving him another assignment.

"You want me to do what?"

Fermier gave him one of his familiar looks, looks which not only conveyed an entire sentence but did so in a bitingly sarcastic tone. This particular expression was saying '_I just explained it in the simplest terms I felt your feeble mind could manage._'

"We need you for an infiltration, to get into the Russian Ministry and find out what happened to the last Unspeakable who went missing while on monitoring duty. If they're working on something that they shouldn't, destroy the project and, if possible, capture those involved. If our man is still alive, get him out."

Ed blinked. This was… actually pretty new. Sure, he'd done breaking and entering before, but international espionage?

"And you want me, whose specialty is large-scale collateral, to go on a spying mission against a country Britain only recently got back onto speaking terms with?"

"As unbelievable as it is, yes. Your mission is very simple, and you're being assigned as backup to an experienced Unspeakable from the Espionage division. She's the one who will be doing all the subtle work, your job is to be the muscle for when things inevitably go wrong."

Edward cocked his head.

"You…_expect_ everything to go up in flames, and that's why you're sending me, who will only ensure that things go up in flames?

"Exactly. We're just preparing for the worst, and you're basically the closest thing there is to a failsafe in terms of firepower."

Ed thought for a moment, then smirked triumphantly.

"I don't know Russian. You can't send me."

Fermier raised an eyebrow.

"You're speaking with me now using the translation runeset I put into your coat. Those are good for any given dialect of any given language you care to name. The only thing they _won't_ work on is an active Occlumency shield, so don't talk to anybody actively fighting off a mental assault."

"…This is punishment for the thing with the Prophecy, isn't it."

"Possibly. Here's the file, you leave early tomorrow."

* * *

Airport security, Edward found, did not have provisions for those with metal limbs. After several tense minutes in which he repeatedly walked through the gate, set off the alarm, and then walked back, his partner had finally gotten a hand on her schadenfreude and managed to stop laughing. After quietly _Confunding _the security, she then proceeded to _Confund_ everyone in the vicinity, and everyone they met from then on, all the way up to getting on the airplane. The result was a very, _very_ quiet flight, in which slightly unnerved flight attendants conducted discreet inquiries as to the sobriety of their passengers.

It was just as well that everyone else was spelled out of their minds. Edward didn't think he could take much more stress on top of what he was already experiencing.

Hands clenched firmly to armrests, jaw tight, heart in his throat, Edward squeezed his eyes shut and sent up a silent plea to Truth that he wouldn't fall out of the sky. Sure, he'd been over the physics, and the engineering, and even the specific blueprints after he'd been told he was going to Russia in a flying machine. And yes, he _should_ be able to repair himself if worst came to worst.

That still didn't mean he fine about hurtling through the sky in a metal box with wings far faster than evolution could possibly have prepared a human being to withstand.

"Remind me," he gritted out, "Why we couldn't just take a Portkey? Or Apparate?"

Or take a car, or a train, or fucking _walk_, for all he cared.

Espionage-class Unspeakable Susan smiled widely.

"Any form of magical transport into Russia would be detected, traced, and reported by the wards they've still got up. The defensive measures haven't fully been scaled back from the Cold War, and given what we're going to Russia to investigate, we can't risk any implications British agents were ever present. An airplane's the next fastest way to Moscow."

A flight attendant walked up.

"Excuse me miss, would you like-"

"_Confundo._"

The woman tottered back the way she came, wearing a befuddled expression and shaking her head. Edward stared at his partner.

"You can't just keep doing that to everyone we meet."

She shrugged.

"It'll wear off in a few hours, and by the time we land, all they'll have are a few vague memories of an uneventful flight. This way, everything's nice and quiet and nobody saw us get on or off the plane."

Leaning back into her seat, she closed her eyes and relaxed.

"Plus, this way I don't have to deal with any loud children or idiots who think they can crush my knees with the back of their seat."

Six hours, a small bit of turbulence, a corresponding panic attack in which Ed mentally prepared a circle to transmute his coat into a makeshift parachute, and they were safely disembarking at Domodedovo International Airport. Susan hailed a taxi in perfect Russian and in no time they had accommodations at a hotel in a well-to-do quarter of the city.

Susan had not, however, stopped _Confunding_ people.

"So…" Ed began, "What's the plan?"

Susan lazily glanced at him from her position by the door.

"Simple. Tomorrow we break into the Russian Ministry, get down to their Research Department, and figure out what they wanted to keep quiet so badly. We trash all the dangerous stuff—that's where you come in—and then if we can we figure out what happened to Unspeakable Fleming. _Confundo_."

The latest bellhop to push a cart by their open door didn't seem to react to the undetectable bit of magic, but thirty seconds later there came a _crash_ from the end of the hallway where he'd run into the wall instead of taking the turn.

Pride continued to laugh, just as he had done for the last six victims of the Confundus Charm. Edward's eye twitched.

"I'm going out."

"It's getting late."

"I don't need sleep.

"You have no money."

Ed clapped, tapped the wallpaper, and two hundred rubles peeled themselves out of the wall in a small lightshow of sparks.

"…You don't speak Russian."

"I've been assured that there are some very comprehensive mind-reading translation charms in my cloak."

Susan paused, searching for another reason to keep her charge nearby. She drew a blank, and waved a hand at the grinning alchemist, sighing theatrically.

"Fine then. Be back tomorrow morning, don't get lost, don't leave witnesses, blah blah blah. Have fun."

* * *

Susan woke to the alert of the proximity wards she had set up around the room. From outside came the sound of muffled curses, the handle of the door rattling, and then a brief flash of light followed by the door swinging open.

Ed stumbled in and collapsed forwards the moment he crossed the threshold. Susan levitated his weakly mumbling form out of the way, then closed the door and transfigured the lock back into something recognizable as its original form.

"What happened to _you_?"

"Went exploring," came the muffled reply. He had not bothered to roll over. Susan gave his prone form a once-over. Several tears in his jacket, bloodstains on the gloves, pant legs, and boots. The slightly messy braid was in disarray, and there was a strong scent of alcohol.

"You got in a barfight."

Ed rolled over, groaned, and pushed himself upright.

"No, _Pride_ got in a barfight. After downing several bottles of what I'm fairly certain was some vodka strong enough to actually get him _drunk,_ which made the translation charms go screwy so Pride ended up swearing in tongues at the other patrons, and there must have been enough Slavic dialects to give them the gist of what he was saying, 'cause the next moment he was fighting ten of these _huge_ guys, barehanded."

Ed swung his arms around for emphasis, color beginning to return to his face as he narrated.

"So after breaking the last guy's nose with a barstool, the _police_ show up, and I managed to get enough majority in Motor Control that I was able to get us away, with him still screaming Ancient Vedic curses. After that, we kinda had a fight in an alley the next few blocks over, with him punching both of us in the face because he was still _smashed, _and me letting him do his own thing while I went for the frontal lobe, and when I managed _that_ I tried to figure out where we were."

Susan briefly considered interrupting, as her original question had been answered. She then thought better of it and focused her Occlumency on retaining the current memory for the best quality blackmail possible.

"Anyway, when I figured out we were pretty much halfway across the city from the hotel, I just decided to take as many shortcuts to get back because it was getting light out. I got stabbed a few times by a couple muggers, and Pride used _that_ distraction as an opportunity to take charge again, and we spent another half hour or so flailing around face down on the pavement sorting things out. In the meantime, some idiot had called the paramedics, so by the time I had beaten Pride down again I was laid out on a stretcher in an ambulance. When I saw us pass the hotel, I waited for a bit then jumped out, made a break for it, and came back and came here. Pride's still slightly drunk, and I'm beginning to wonder if second-hand inebriation is a thing because my head hurts like a _bitch_."

Story finished, Ed flopped back down, staring vacantly at the ceiling with his arms spread-eagled. After a moment, he brought his arms out straight above him, clapped, then let his hands collapse back to his chest, fixing his coat and consuming a small section of the carpet. The bloodstains and stench of alcohol disappeared, and the alchemist looked slightly presentable again. He resumed his contemplation of the plaster.

Susan considered her hapless partner for a moment. She seriously considered letting him sleep off whatever ungodly amount of liquid fire he'd consumed, and to simply conduct the mission alone. These were the thoughts any rational, mindful, sympathetic person would have had for a friend, even a recent one.

"Get up. The Russian Ministry starts its work hours soon, and we need to slip in with the morning rush."

* * *

The Russian Ministry looked a lot like the British one. Ostentatious marble architecture, busy wizards and witches bustling everywhere, and cloaked security personnel watching carefully from unobtrusive corners.

The only difference was, these Aurors actually looked competent.

Susan led Ed through the main foyer, just behind a group of what seemed to be normal office workers. While the alchemist discreetly eyed the various armed guards, Susan pointed her wand from where her hand was positioned at her hip, hidden from view by her cloak.

"Remind me why we didn't use Invisibility Cloaks?" Edward muttered, just loud enough to be heard by his partner.

The espionage agent fired off a set of silent _Confundos_. The rigid posture of the guards nearest to the admissions desk relaxed slightly, and the clerk on duty let them pass without comment. As they cleared the wand-check, Susan turned back around and unobtrusively _finite'd_ the charms.

"Because any sort of stealth magic is scanned for by the incoming wards, and at the front desk, and at every stairwell. The cloaks would be fizzled in five seconds and then we'd be stuck answering some _very_ uncomfortable questions."

They rounded a corner and descended a flight of stairs.

"So, where are we headed?"

"Given that Fleming was captured while investigating secret magic development for a foreign nation, you'd better bet she's not getting a public trial. Which means that if she's still alive then she'll be in a holding cell in the deeper levels. First priority is to rescue her. When we do, if whatever she's found out is too dangerous to leave alone, we do a quick smash and burn and get the hell out of here."

After a few more floors of dodging crowds, descending staircases, and doing various stealthy spy-type activities, they came upon an unmarked door, painted a deep crimson. It was, in fact, very similar to the unmarked black doors of the British Department of Mysteries. Susan took a slow breath.

"This is it," she whispered sharply. "From here on out it gets a bit trickier. Everyone down here knows who's supposed to be here, and people from the upper floors don't come down here. We need to find out where the cells are located, get there without being detected, and break Fleming out."

And then, right on cue, the door swung open on silenced hinges, letting out a slight, clerkish looking man who was carrying a large stack of paperwork.

"Now."

This was the only warning that their unsuspecting target received before Susan stepped in behind him and delivered a vicious chop to his neck, spun around, and held the closing door, letting the Russian collapse limply on the floor behind her. Ed stripped him of his outer robe, and without that protection an _Obliviate_ and a _Petrificus_ from Susan made sure he would stay down. The man and his papers were Disillusioned, dragged to an unobtrusive corner, and propped up behind a potted plant. The two Unspeakables slipped inside, and the dark red door shut with a sense of finality.

As soon as they were inside, Ed's eyes were forced to adjust to the relative gloom of the hall.

"**Seriously. What's with wizards and their sense of lighting? Everything's always torches and dark rooms with these people."**

The alchemist had no reason to comment. It was a theme he was noticing as well. Instead, he focused on his partner, who was busy opening and shutting doors, apparently looking for something in particular.

"Here we are. Get in."

Edward followed, and was faced with what seemed to be a small, slightly disused storage room. Susan pointed to the door.

"Do your alchemy and hide us for a bit. The clock's ticking now, and I have no desire to waste what time we have by getting discovered."

A clap, some lightning, and there was no door. Ed turned to the spy.

"So, plan of action?"

She pulled out the stolen robe, and shrugged it on.

"You and I walk around in disguise and try to find the cells. You can transmute yourself something similar to this, I hope?"

Edward frowned.

"**That's… not much of a plan."**

"That's not much of a plan."

Susan growled in frustration.

"We've got limited time, no maps, no inkling of what to expect, and you want a solid plan?"

Ed paused. _Maps_… That gave him an idea.

'Pride, do you think we could…?'

"**There's certainly plenty of shadows."**

He smiled, and then spoke up.

"You wanted a map? Because I can get you a map."

* * *

Susan watched as her partner sat down on the floor, closed his eyes, and the storeroom's shadows _twisted_. Dozens of purple eyes blinked open, sharp teeth glinted, and Susan silently swore to never sleep without a light source nearby ever again. A voice echoed from every corner of the room, soft and ever-so-slightly unhinged.

"_Give me a few minutes._"

The eyes shut, the mouths closed, and the shadows stopped dancing.

After nearly five uncomfortably tense minutes in which her partner just sat still and she tried not to remember the prominent warnings of instability on Edward Elric's psychological profile, his eyes snapped open, shining the same violet that the eyes in the shadows had.

"Down three floors, take the third right, halfway down the hallway, through the door in between the two potted plants on the left. From there, take the spiral staircase up one floor, walk to the end of that hallway—"

Susan held up a hand.

"Stop. I won't remember past the second sentence, and there's a faster way to do this."

Edward—was he still Edward?—scowled at being interrupted. Susan ignored him in favor of pulling on the stolen robe. It was a little too big, but hopefully it would pass a cursory inspection.

"I'll go out and find Fleming, and you can tell me where to go. Much more efficient."

She flipped up the hood, and turned back to her partner.

"Well?"

He scowled, and then shadows lashed out, slicing at the seams where the door had been fused to the walls. They cut clean through, and the door fell to the ground with a _thud_, and then began to tip forwards. Susan hastily silenced it before it could make a louder noise, and then with a sticking charm set it more or less back in its original place. Layering as many Notice-Me-Nots on the door and the surrounding wall as possible, she turned around and set off into the recesses of the Russian Ministry.

* * *

_Walk with purpose, avoid eye contact but not acknowledgement, act like you're supposed to be here._

The mantra circled endlessly in Susan's mind as she briskly strode down yet another dimly lit hallway, passing other red-cloaked figures and attempting to appear inconspicuous. As she reached the end of the hallway, a small voice spoke up from behind her ear, under her hood.

"_Left here. Through the door, down the stairs, and then at the end of the hall."_

She opened the door, descended what felt like the hundredth staircase, and found herself at one end of another overly extended hallway. She had never really considered the convenience of the magic doors in the Department of Mysteries, but was appreciating them now more than ever.

Halfway down the hall, she heard the shadow tucked away in her hood give a soft curse. Just as she was about to mutter an inquiry, the torches lining the room flared and the room was cast into full, brilliant light. Swearing and covering her eyes at the sudden change, Susan was about to repeat her question when the alarms started.

_Time's up._

Abandoning all pretenses of cover—they'd soon find out who was wearing a stolen cloak after all—Susan made to sprint for the end of the hall. Grasping the handle of the door, she yanked it open, delivered a Stunner and an _Obliviate_ to the surprised guards, and then secured the door with every locking and warding spell she could remember.

Hopefully that would hold long enough.

* * *

The first cue Pride got that something was wrong was the large number of wizards gathering at the entry door. The second hint he got was when the clerk they'd knocked out on the way in was carried back inside. He'd had just enough time to begin diverting his attention back to Susan when the lights had all gone blindingly bright and every single one of his watching eyes knew nothing but _pain._

When he managed to reassert himself enough to assess the damage done—those shadows represented a _serious_ chunk of energy—his immediate conclusion was that they were in some deep shit. Sure, Susan had hopefully gotten to the holding cells, but he hadn't expected to have to fight until they were halfway out of this place. Now the surprise was gone and they were split up. He was running on about a quarter of his full reserves, and wouldn't you know it, but someone had just noticed the way that his portion of the wall didn't seem to be attracting any attention. Only one thing to do now—buy some time. He gathered what energy he could, pulled his shadows into a defensive position, and readied himself for a brawl.

The concealment spells fell within moments, followed quickly by the door. A shaft of light burst into the storeroom, and was followed shortly by a number of smaller lights of a more lethal variety. Jets, beams, points, beams, and a few esoteric spells that didn't _glow_ so much as _swallow_ the light around them. Every spell impacted ineffectively with the back of the pitch-dark room, and the barrage quickly ceased.

The first wizard to storm into the room disappeared so quickly they didn't even see what hit him. One moment he was stepping through what remained of the doorway, the next a black blur had removed him from their vision.

Cue more spellfire.

It occurred to somebody that perhaps they should have lit the inside of the room they were entering _before_ they went inside, and the idea was quickly agreed upon. Lights floated into the room, revealing an empty room, containing only destroyed shelves and the remains of the man who had stepped in first, sans several important features such as a head, or wand hand. No assailant was in sight.

The next floor down, Edward Elric crouched low, gathering himself after a rather hasty exit through the floor of the storeroom above. Transmuting his way through should buy him a little time, and right now he needed all the time he could get.

"_Edward? Come in, do you hear me?"_

Just what he needed. _More_ voices in his head.

"I hear you, Susan," he announced to the empty hall. "Now how about you tell me _how_ I can hear you?"

That was definitely an exasperated sigh on the other end of…whatever they were using.

"_Communication charms. Standard issue, Fermier must have put them into your coat at the same time that he did the translation spells. Honestly, I was working off that assumption, we'd be screwed if he wasn't such a perfectionist…"_

She trailed off.

"_Anyway. I need you to come down and meet me halfway. Fleming's in a bad way—bastards were torturing him, he's not exactly coherent."_

Ed's eyes narrowed at the mention of torture.

"So, you wouldn't be exactly heartbroken if I were to, say, have already decapitated a man?"

There was a pause. Whether it was one of shock or deliberation, he couldn't say.

"_Collateral doesn't matter at this point. Given their treatment of Fleming, I'd say it's safe to label everyone in this Department as an enemy hostile. Do whatever you need to do, just get your ass down here."_

The parts of Edward's train of thought that weren't busy planning a route or feeling regretful at his actions cackled in glee. Actually, the cackling might have been Pride.

"**This mean we can finally go full-out?"**

'Within reason. We can't do anything _too_ drastic. This is an underground system, and while we could probably dig our way out eventually, Susan's odds are much lower. That said…'

Ed reached into a pocket and pulled out a pair of white gloves. A pair of very special white gloves with a very specific array painstakingly stitched into the back.

'It's about time we got bring out the big guns, don't you think?'

* * *

**Whew. This entire thing took me absolute ages to plan, write, and then rewrite. Unlucky 13, I guess.**

**While basically none of the Russian Ministry arc is canon, I figured if the Unspeakables are doing international espionage, Ed needs to get in on that. If only to see it all fall apart hilariously. The Harry Potter timeline is still continuing as normal. For those of you wondering, this is in the weeks just before the attack in the library, wherein Hermione is attacked and Hagrid is arrested and Dumbledore leaves the school.**

**I'll let you make your own connections about how that's important.**

**Anyways, this arc is mainly a filler, so that my time skip isn't for months, but rather weeks. Ed's got to do something for his job, after all. Long story short, next chapter will be Ed (and Pride) finally getting to lay down the beatings after about 12 chapters of mediocrity. **

**And now, for your viewing pleasure, and because of the fact that this chapter is about a month and a half late, I present to you an**

**OMAKE**

**While Shadows' Shadows is (semi) serious, I do have many fun ideas. Some of which I can't find a place to put in the actual story line, due to errors in timing, stuff I've already established, etc. Hence this short extra. Enjoy!**

* * *

Ed stomped reluctantly into Fermier's lab. He wasn't actually reluctant to be there, as he was immune to the explosions that made everyone else wary of the place. He just didn't like the fact that he'd been ordered to be there.

It chafed on his dignity.

The mad scientist turned around and gave Ed his best approximation of a welcoming smile. It was really indistinguishable from a superior smirk, but the subtleties were there.

"Ah, good. I had just finished. Come over here."

Ed duly walked over and was promptly handed a wand. He regarded the stick blankly.

"I thought you said I couldn't use this."

Fermier smiled. Honest-to-Truth _smiled_. There were some expressions that were not meant to be worn by some people.

"This, Edward, is a _special _wand. After much research and analysis, I found a perfect synchronization to counteract the pull of your Philosopher's Stone. It just so happens that the wand in question was the first wand ever made by one Ollivander, who is said to have declared that this wand would only be wielded by the greatest, most gifted wizard since Merlin himself. It is an ancient, powerful wand, Elric, and I expect that you—"

He promptly burst out laughing at the stunned, reverent look on the alchemist's face as he held the ancient-looking focus. When Edward looked up questioningly, he laughed harder.

"You should have seen the look on your face! They fall for that every time! _Every_ time!"

Edward was starting to suspect he was being mocked. As if on cue, Nicolas Flamel walked in. Observing the situation, he smiled drily.

"The old ancient-prophecy wand trick?"

"_Every single time!_"

Nicolas glanced at Edward apologetically.

"I'm sorry, he does this to all the new recruits who come to him for gear. Takes delight in the 'simplicity of gullible idiots' or something to that effect."

"No," Flamel continued. "_That _old piece of driftwood wouldn't work any more than a twig off of some random branch. What you need," he said gravely, pulling out several sheets of parchment with illustrations of fearsome creatures on them, "Is the magical essence of several of the most potent creatures in existence, and wood from a tree in the Whispering Forest. The sheer power in such a wand should be enough to balance out the energies that you deal with."

Ed regarded the parchment blankly.

"So, I have to fight what, exactly?"

Flamel began to tick off on his fingers.

"You need the heart of a Quintaped, the ground tooth of a hundred year old Chinese Fireball, the eye of a Kraken, the tail of a platypus, the claws of a Wendigo, the fang of a Basilisk, hairs from the pelt of a Hellhound, and a scale from the Black Beast of," here he paused, face contorting strangely, "Aaaaaaauggh."

"Are you alright?"

Flamel quirked an eyebrow in apparent confusion.

"Of course I am. Why shouldn't I be?"

"Because you sounded like you were hurt."

Flamel paused mid-breath, mouth partly open. He raised his hand halfway up to his face, dropped it back down again, sighed heavily, turned to look around at a now-somberly nodding Fermier, looked back at Edward, and sighed again.

"It's a—you've never seen—just … Never mind. Collect all of these ingredients and I will be able to create for you a wand capable of channeling the Stone's power."

Ed nodded firmly. Time to go kick some magical creatures' asses.

As the door slammed shut, Fermier burst out laughing again, and Flamel quickly joined him.

"Dear Merlin. He bought that steaming pile of dragon dung?"

"I'm just picturing him figuring out what a platypus looks like," Flamel choked out in between rasping chuckles.

"Never mind that, but the Black Beast? Only the Purebloods and the most sheltered muggleborns would miss that sort of giveaway."

"Well, it seems your newest dupe isn't a fan of the theater, Fermier."

"It seems so. What are you going to do when he brings back all the ingredients?"

Flamel stopped laughing.

* * *

**More to follow.**


	14. Breaking and Exiting

**Another chapter! And here, we finally drag ourselves away from sideplot shenanigans and back towards the real story! It's a miracle. And now, without further ado,**

**ON WITH THE STORY!**

* * *

Susan half-stumbled, half-ran through the painfully, inconveniently bright hallways in the bowels of the Russian Ministry of Magic. Even with the aid of featherweight charms, a human being was cumbersome to carry, and she didn't dare waste time on a slower levitation spell. She stopped at what she hoped was the right doorway—she'd been in a bit of a hurry on the way down—and carefully peered around the corner.

An empty hallway stretched out ahead of her.

Sighing in relief, Susan rounded the turn, pulling Fleming's limp body behind her. In the distance, and growing closer, she heard muffled explosions, crashes, and shouts as her one-man army of a partner worked his way down to meet her. Hopefully all the wizards were headed towards the more destructive intruder and not, say, the vulnerable one with a downed ally to defend. At least, that was the plan.

Halfway down the latest in a series of unbearably long hallways, Susan froze as she heard stomping feet approaching from one of the numerous side doors. She dove to the wall, pulling Fleming with her, and in the same move Disillusioned them both.

Then, as they rounded the corner and stepped into the corridor, she did something questionably legal. This of course weighed quite heavily on her conscience, because legality was obviously what she was most concerned about at this point in time.

"_Imperio_," she murmured, barely audible at all above the sound of shouting and the distant rumbles of Elric's handiwork. But even when only half-vocalized, the curse did its work. The first man to have rounded the corner immediately sprinted off down the hallway, away from Susan, giving no explanation whatsoever to his fellows, who, shouting questions and demanding answers, followed.

As the door swung shut and her pursuers were drawn further away, she sighed in relief, and prepared to begin moving again. Her partner's explosions had stopped, and she really hoped it was just because he'd found a quieter, more enjoyable way of wreaking havoc.

The alternatives didn't bear thinking about.

* * *

Edward was starting to get the slightest bit panicked. Sure, massive free-for-all melees were his specialty, and the practically nonexistent limit on collateral meant he could have a field day with all the glorious methods of breaking a person, but the entire situation was quickly spiraling out of hand. His ignition gloves that he'd so badly wanted to use for such a long time proved to be practically worthless against a pre-prepared shield, and the wizards currently charging after him had the good sense to hold a front line. Transmuted spikes, traps, and bombs were similarly rendered useless as those following quickly adapted to his hit-and-run tactics. Getting in close wasn't even an option any more, and more and more Ed found himself having to transmute paths through the floor and walls to avoid being caught by the ever-tightening trap being drawn around him. He really hoped that he could get out soon, because he was positive that his tunneling was playing hell with the structural integrity of the entire complex.

He threw himself through a doorway, hastily transmuted the path behind him shut, and turned to keep running only to come face to face with another red-hooded figure. Who seemed to be casting a spell.

"_Reducto_!"

The surprised alchemist did a sharp half-spin as most of his chest impacted inwards under the force of an underpowered Reductor Curse. Catching himself before he even hit the ground, Edward executed a neat roll and came up directly in front of his aggressor, red lightning knitting his bones together while also marking the formation of his signature armblade.

"Elric?"

Ed froze, metal arm poised to plunge messily into the general kidney area of his opponent as he registered several things all at once—the fact that this particular Russian knew his name, and now that he looked closer, she bore a remarkable resemblance to his partner. Not only that, but there was a second person in British Unspeakable robes lying on the floor behind her.

Lowering his weapon, Ed watched wryly as Susan did the same.

"You know, normally I'd compliment reflexes like that, but could you please check to see who you're shooting at first next time?"

"You did have a red coat," Susan half-heartedly defended. "It was an easy mistake to make."

"Yeah, yeah," Ed grumbled. "Blame the coat, sure, why not? You're lucky I've still got power to spare for things like regrowing lungs."

He glanced down at the still form of the Unspeakable.

"So, is that Fleming?"

"Yep."

"So, all we have to do is leave, now, right?"

Susan grinned.

"You make it sound so _easy. _'Oh, all we have to do is fight our way past the entire Russian Ministry, somehow make it to the edge of the anti-Apparition wards, then Side-Along an unconscious operative while under heavy fire. Piece of cake.'"

With a few gestures of her wand, Fleming's body began levitating. She and Ed set a brisk pace down the hallway, keeping up their banter.

"I don't sound like that at all. And it can't be that hard, all you need is for me to drain the wards, right?"

"One, yes you do sound exactly like that, and two, you'll never be able to siphon the wards at a reasonable rate unless we get you to the anchor, and that would involve even _more_ fighting, running, and getting lost than we've already done so far."

"Contrary to what you might believe, I know exactly which way we need to go. Left here."

Susan stopped running.

"You mean right. There's no door to the _left_, stupid—"

Ed blew a hole in the wall on the left, revealing a stairwell on the other side.

"Wonderful thing about this kind of compact architecture, everything's so easy to get to. Ladies first."

Susan picked her way through the rubble, tactfully avoiding the pair of boots poking out from under a larger pile.

"Smartass."

"You wound me, you really do. Keep up the pace, now, and don't stop for the welcoming committee."

Susan looked up in alarm to see a line of red-clad wizards standing ready at the top of the stairs, wands pointed directly at the duo. She ducked her head and kept running, charging forwards in what she hoped wasn't a suicide dash. There was the sound of a clap behind her, and lightning raced under her feet, stopping on the floor directly behind their adversaries. There was a breath as a few of the less disciplined mages turned to the new threat. All hell broke loose as the ground behind the group pitched upwards and then forwards, as if the stone had suddenly become bored of its stationary lot in life and decided to try being a wave for a bit. Those that didn't turn were caught by the mass of moving rock and were sent tumbling headlong down the stairs. Those that did turn had time to brace themselves, but no time to react to the blast of flames that roared up the staircase from directly next to Susan, immolating everything in its path.

The end result was a mostly clear staircase, with a few groaning, broken bodies at the bottom and a few more smoldering, sizzling bodies at the top. Susan stopped for a moment to contemplate what just happened, and Ed stepped up to the top of the stairs with her, sniffing the air, which was now permeated with the odor of charred people. Regarding the scene, she glanced, somewhat warily, at the alchemist next to her, reassessing his potential. How much risk did somebody this powerful pose? How could they trust him to stay under control?

"Bacon! That's it! Ha, no wonder Mustang never liked it. I wouldn't either, if that's what it always smells like!"

Ed grinned at his partner, proud of his deductive skills. Another mystery solved.

Susan sighed, realizing the answers to her question. Right. Elric was also an idiot.

"Anyway, we should be getting a move on, so—" Ed glanced at Fleming and did a double take.

"This might sound like a strange question, but is there any reason why you changed his hair color?"

Glancing back, Susan realized that, indeed, Fleming's hair had become a rather startling electric blue color.

"That's normal. I can explain later, if you'd kindly shut up _now, _while we run for our lives."

Having said so, Susan started climbing stairs again.

Ed did not seem to want to let the issue rest there.

"But how is spontaneous hair color changes _normal?_ That's the kind of thing _you_ might expect, but I'm fairly new to this whole thing and I—"

Susan growled in frustration.

"Listen," she bit out in between breaths. "While you don't seem to have to do little things like inhale to keep functioning, I do. And I have to carry somebody while I run. So if you would kindly _shut up_ with the questions until we _aren't_ running for our lives through an enemy base, that would be ideal."

Edward shut up.

* * *

They continued on their merry path of destruction, caving in walls and ceilings behind them and taking as many shortcuts as Ed's memory of the complex's layout could provide them. As they did so, their pursuers became increasingly frustrated, forced time and time again to reroute around a cave-in or back up from a booby-trapped hallway. Now that Susan was with Ed, he didn't need to keep anything except the way out intact, and he was gleefully taking that as permission to break everything, even more so than previously.

Pride, though still confined to their mind by the bright-burning lights filling every room, was enjoying the entire escape immensely.

"**That looks expensive—smash it. Ooh, and that door says 'Volatile Potions'! Do the thing with the carbon and the nitrogen again!"**

Ed grinned viciously, his sprint carrying him sideways towards the door Pride had pointed out. A quick transmutation and the carbon of the door was bonded with nitrogen, oxygen, and hydrogen in the air. The resulting mass of nitroglycerin fell to the floor with a soft _splat_ and then combusted with a much louder _BOOOM_. Diving ahead of the expanding fireball, the alchemist caught himself in a roll and came up still sprinting. Susan sped up as best she could, and avoided the explosion by virtue of a shield charm and being across the hallway from the blast. Both Unspeakables barely slowed down. Behind them, a roiling cloud of undoubtedly toxic smoke covered their tracks as carefully stacked reagents fell into the conflagration.

Pulling even with him, Susan gave her partner a sideways glance.

"You're…" she puffed, "A regular… pyromaniac… aren't you?"

Edward just cackled. Reaching into an obviously enchanted pocket, he held up a trio of innocent-looking glass vials.

"You haven't even seen the really good stuff yet. Let's hope it doesn't come to that, because I'm fairly certain you don't have as high of a tolerance for death as I do."

He then put the suddenly much more threatening looking containers back into his coat, and then, in keeping with the manners of any good gentleman, disintegrated the door open for the lady waiting behind him. And Winry had always said that he never showed anybody any respect!

Three flights of stairs, five more hastily performed explosions, and twenty additional enemy casualties, the duo found themselves at one end of a very familiar hallway, with the exit at the other end. A good thing too, as Susan was quite sure this was the furthest she'd had to run in a very long time.

"Well," Edward commented as they dashed for the final door, "That wasn't _too_ hard. Only middling-level grunts the whole way up, and now it's just a building full of bureaucrats between us and success."

All the doors in the room swung shut, an oily shine across their surfaces signifying the activation of wards. One of the doors off to the side swung open, letting out a pair of individuals who, judging by their much more ornate robes, were not middling-level grunts. Next to him, Susan groaned, shifting Fleming behind her, out of direct fire, before letting him drop.

"You just had to say it. Go on, tempt fate again why don't you, it's not like things could _possibly_ get worse now."

She might have continued to complain, but was interrupted when the wizard on the left swiped his wand through a complex series of gestures, finishing with a bolt of gray light. As she watched, a wall rose from the floor, lightning flashing around it, to intercept the spell. The spell hit the wall, and for a fraction of a second, appeared to have no effect.

Then a massive portion of the stone vanished with an anticlimactic _pop_ of displaced air.

The two sides regarded each other for a moment, contemplating the now-useless barrier in the middle of the room. The calm was broken by an echoing _snap_, and a column of flame roared across the room, and the battle began in earnest.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy considered the letter in front of him. He had read through it three times, checking for any of the usual fallacies that the author of this particular letter was prone to. But, despite his hopeful, wishful thinking, the message was painfully clear.

Something was wrong with his plan.

Well, not _his_ plan, per se. He was really just the instigator, the finger that pushed the first domino. And if the result of this plan dovetailed nicely with his own goals, well, that was simply expected from a plot executed by a Slytherin. Layers upon layers.

But the expected outcomes were simply refusing to materialize. He had acquired, in no uncertain terms, a detailed, step-by-step description of the Horcrux's plans for Hogwarts. He had been promised a few planned inefficiencies, yes, but that was to build the _tension_. To draw out the rising horror as Dumbledore realized that he could do nothing, to ensure that everybody saw the threat clearly rising, before the climactic conclusion.

But that conclusion, the vital punctuation to an otherwise flawlessly executed plan, failed to appear. Petrifications by the handful, to be sure. Muggleborns freezing up left and right. But where was the _murder?_ You couldn't have a proper purge of the unworthy if nobody got murdered. And, more importantly, the destruction of the Weasley name wouldn't be complete without a death or five. Either he had vastly underestimated the blasted Diary's scale of planning, or it was simply incompetent. It wouldn't be long, after all, before some Ravenclaw got the idea to focus less on the Chamber and the Heir and more on the Monster. And if the exact identity of Slytherin's Monster was discovered, then there was practically no chance of salvaging the plan at all.

He had to do something. But what? Secretly give aid to the Diary?

No, if he was in the least bit connected with this debacle, he stood to lose valuable anonymity. No arrests, of course. But the reminder that the Malfoy family was still working in the background would be counterproductive.

But he could remove a few obstacles. All in the name of academic safety of course.

Deciding on a course of action, the Head of House Malfoy pulled out a clean sheet of parchment and a dictation quill. It was time to write a few letters. Call a meeting. Pass out a few bribes.

It was time to set events back into motion.

* * *

Flamel strode down the halls of the Department of Mysteries, a folder full of notes under his arm. Between the tests he was running on the changes his Philosopher's Stone had undergone while in Edward Elric's bloodstream and the discussions he had with Fermier about the same alchemist, he was spending more and more time on what was supposed to be a consulting job. He supposed he couldn't really complain, though. It was all very interesting work, and the head of the Research division made for good conversation.

Speaking of which, as he passed by the lab that had, by unspoken consensus been designated as Fermier's, he heard a sound that he wasn't at all familiar with hearing in this section of the Ministry. Stepping through the door, Flamel dropped the notes on an open table and walked up to his companion, who was listening intently to a Wizarding Wireless set.

"I didn't know that you listened to music, Fermier."

The scientist looked up.

"For your information, Nicolas, it's the news. There's a broadcast on that I'm rather enjoying."

Well. For _Fermier_ to take enough interest to pull himself away from his research to interact with the real world, it had to be something worth hearing. Flamel's instincts didn't prove him wrong. Just as he had pulled up a chair and made himself comfortable, the commercial break ended and the program cut back to the news.

"_We bring you back, listeners, to the eighth hour of the Russian Ministry's lockdown. While nobody but MKGB officials are being allowed inside the building and we have yet to receive concrete reports, estimates from Portkey signatures place casualties as high as sixty-two witches and wizards. No clear reports have been made on what's going on down there, but we are assured that it is only a matter of time before this entire episode is drawn to a conclusion."_

* * *

It had been nearly fifteen minutes since Ed had been trapped in a hall with two psychotic Russians, and he still couldn't see an end to the battle.

The problem was that, between the two of them, Ed and Susan were pretty much an even match for their opposing duo. Between his ability to block any and all incoming spellfire and Susan's fast counters to the spells that slipped by his barriers, they hadn't sustained any serious injuries yet. But on the other hand, Fleming's unconscious body needed protecting, limiting their ability to strike back, which meant that their adversaries weren't wasting any time defending.

Glancing around the room for the hundredth time, Ed tried to find _some_ sort of advantage that he could use to bring this entire debacle to a close. They couldn't afford to stick around—even the amount of time they'd spent down here was far too long, and if any reinforcements got let into the room they'd be done for. He needed to end this, and _quickly._ Once again, his thoughts strayed to the very tempting pair of expanded-space vials in his coat pockets, and once again he had to remind himself of the presence of his partner. If only there was some way to—

Hm. That was a moronic plan. So moronic, in fact, that it might just work.

"Get behind me!" he shouted to Susan as she ducked behind a transmuted pillar.

"What's the new plan?"

He grinned. "Something very stupid. Now get back. Preferably as far back as you can get."

Further elaboration was cut off as their cover was yet again reduced to rubble by the duo on the other side of the room. Despite herself, Susan followed her partner's suggestion and fell back to a different transmuted wall, as close to the back wall as she could get.

Vaulting over the remains of his makeshift bunker, Ed charged directly at the two Russians, the two wizards who had managed to stall him for nearly twenty minutes. In each hand, he held a vial. As he ran, the air swirled and cooled behind him as his ignition gloves worked the air components of their circles. Zigzagging out of the way of spells, he drew closer and closer until he could see the individual curves of the runes stitched into their robes.

Then he threw the glass.

As predicted, they took a moment to stop trying to hit their elusive target to try to stop the bottles. The one on the left disappeared two meters ahead of its target, the target of a Vanishing Charm. But the one on the right was missed. A bluish-green spell flew ineffectually past the tube as it smashed into the ground at the feet of the duo, its expanded contents expelled in an instant.

For a moment, nothing happened. In that breath, Ed closed the last few meters, his cold front rushing in behind him. Susan's ears _popped _as the air grew heavier. In that moment, the only sound was the tinkling of shattered glass bouncing along the warped, pitted floor.

Dioxygen difluoride (FOOF) is a highly reactive compound. So reactive it could make even _ice _burn. So reactive, in fact, that Edward had to get special cooling charms on the vials so that the insides never rose above negative 180 degrees Celsius. And even at those temperatures, it was still more than capable of doing what it did best.

It exploded.

_Everything_ exploded. Blue-white flames engulfed Ed's vision, along with the entire side of the room he was on. His coat, followed by the rest of his clothes and then his body, were reduced to ashes and his automail was rendered into molten scrap. As the fireball expanded, it met up with the wall of compressed air that Edward had been gathering behind himself during his suicide sprint. High pressure met low pressure, and a miniature windstorm spun briefly underground, flaring the flames even brighter before snuffing them as the last of the deadly reaction ended. From her relatively untouched side of the room, Susan rubbed the afterimages of the blast out of her eyes and regarded the burnt-out wreckage that had been an entry hall. She walked slowly over to the spot where, if the cherry-red lumps shaped vaguely like an arm and a leg were any indication, Edward Elric had burned.

* * *

Burning, Ed decided, was the absolute _worst_ way to die. Dying, of course, also sucked, but the part where he _lit himself on fire_ was particularly painful, and he found himself feeling ever so slightly sympathetic towards the enemies he'd barbecued earlier. He also found another reason to hate Mustang, who used fire to fight _as his main weapon_. But as he got over the mind-searing agony of death by combustion, he realized that he was not, in fact, still in the bowels of the Russian Ministry of Magic.

He was in an unfortunately familiar void, standing in front of a door he'd rather not recognize.

"**Well. This isn't good."**

'Amazing powers of deduction, Pride. Really. Your skills at stating facts are second only to—'

"_Hello, al-che-mist."_

"Shit."

* * *

**Here it is! Three whole months of dead silence, and then I come back and hit you with this cliffhanger!**

**But seriously folks, I'm very, truly sorry about how long it took to write this. Writer's block, combined with those annoyances we call 'real life' and 'responsibilities' have been hitting hard ever since senior year got going. But I'm here now, you're here now, and the plot has reached a major point. **

**By the way, expect the next update to take about as long. Bye now~!**

**-Ambiguity**


	15. A Rather Busy Day

**Upon further review, I have concluded that I am, in fact, an asshole. However, I hope to earn back some of my karma, one delicious word at a time.**

**ON WITH THE STORY!**

* * *

The last time Edward had seen the Truth, it had torn off his arm, separated him from his brother (again), and tossed him into another dimension with the vague instructions to "correct imbalances".

It could be understood, then, that he was less than pleased to meet the deity again.

Truth's silhouette—plus Ed's arm and leg—flickered and vanished as, yet again, he came centimeters away from planting a metal right hook into its face. A face which, while starting out amused at his antics, had grown progressively more exasperated.

"_Alchemist,_" Truth began. "_All time is relative, and is made even more meaningless when we are sitting in the space between moments, but even this is getting ridiculous._"

Edward's response consisted of a diving tackle that, yet again, passed through Truth's immaterial form.

"_Fine. I've followed your human terms of civility long enough._" The Truth raised a single silhouetted hand.

"_**CEASE YOUR NOISE, MORTAL.**_"

Edward froze in place. His mouth, previously emitting half-articulated curses and accusations, was frozen in a snarl, his fist cocked back as he paused in the moment before a strike that would never come.

"_Good. Now that I have your attention, I'd like to tell you just how abysmal your performance so far has been._"

Edward unfroze, his unprepared muscles collapsing under the sudden load as he tumbled to the ground in an undignified heap. Pride snickered in the back of his head.

'Oh, sure, cheer me on when I try to beat the stuffing out of him, then laugh at me when I fail. Real supportive.'

"_I sent you to that universe to do a very simple thing. I set it up for you, picked the exact time when you would be poised to best complete your task. All you had to do,_" Truth continued, its voice growing steadily more agitated, "_Was collect the fragments. It was right in front of you, and yet you still somehow managed to get trapped in a _mirror_ of all things for fifty years, let out by circumstance!_"

Something in Truth's scolding caught on Ed's mind.

"Wait. You mean to say that I was _supposed_ to be years before this Volde-whatever got started?"

Truth waved its hand dismissively.

"_That was never your job, you _idiot_. I had a prophecy, all laid out. There was no reason at all to send a Homunculus in to kill some petty dark wizard with a pretentious pseudonym, that's like swatting a fly with thermonuclear detonation. Effective, but also tending to damage things. Important things._"

"_Your job was to collect the fragments of the Gate that had fallen into mortal hands. Individually, they are powerful. Together,_" And here, the Truth actually managed to sound slightly _worried_—"_Together, in the hands of a properly skilled wielder, they could force open the Gate._"

Edward recalled the last time the Gate had been opened. There was a lot of screaming, and fire, and an entire country had temporarily been murdered. Some people had been permanently murdered. Oh, and he got turned into a Homunculus and coerced into being God's errand boy.

"How about we avoid that, then."

Truth was unable, due to a lack of a face, to glare at Edward Elric for his impudence. It was, however, more than capable of dissociating all of his electrons from their respective atoms.

Which it did.

After the alchemist had finished reincorporating himself from the resulting explosion, the deity spoke again.

"_It was a very stupid thing you did, alchemist. You very nearly didn't survive, and if your body had tried to reform with the energy left in the Stone, you would have certainly run out._"

It grinned wider, and answered Edward's question before he could ask it.

"_When the body dies, the mind and soul go to the Gate. Homunculi, when their bodies are destroyed, are no different. Your physical body isn't here, but I'm holding your soul until your Stone has the opportunity to acquire enough energy to regenerate you. This also has the benefit of allowing me to inform you of your stupidity, of course._"

Well, that was awfully nice of it.

"_Be aware that I'll be adding this service to your debt. In addition to the information I'm about to give you._"

Or not.

"_Better hurry, alchemist. The clock is ticking._"

Ed frowned.

"What do you mean? If these things are at least as old as I've been in that universe for, then shouldn't there be no rush?" After all, if they lasted fifty years without being 'gathered', then they could keep for a decade or two more, right?

For a fraction of a second, the deity looked decidedly shifty.

"_I may have—possibly—set up the defeat of Voldemort in such a way that the unification of these three pieces is directly implicated in his demise. But that's not important. What _is_ important is that you get your hands on the Hallows in the next five years or all of reality could possibly fracture and decay. Better hurry!_"

The Gate split down the middle, ponderous doors swinging open on silent hinges. Dark, grasping arms flew out to seize the alchemist where he stood, dragging him into the ether before he had time to protest the unfairness of it all.

"_Goodbye, al-che-mist. Do try not to make me call you back here again._ _That would be…unpleasant._"

The doors slammed shut and Truth was left alone in his void. All there was to do now was watch.

And wait.

And, of course, smile.

* * *

Fermier was a knowledgeable man. Without even leaving his lab, he knew the goings-on of the outside world. The reports from Espionage, the field tests of the equipment he provided Operations, and, of course, good old-fashioned monitoring charms on every square inch of Research and Development.

This was why he was perfectly prepared and completely unsurprised when a more than slightly distraught Nicolas Flamel stormed through his lab doors.

"Put it on the table over there, I cleared some space."

The offhanded remark caught the alchemist off-balance for a second, before he remembered what he was carrying.

"Really, Fermier? Your little pet project was just KIA on a mission _you_ strongarmed him into taking, less than a year into his work for you, and _that's_ the line you greet me with when I bring you his remains?"

Fermier stopped working on whatever meaningless calculations he was running as he looked up to meet his longtime compatriot's eyes.

"He burned." It was not a question.

"Yes. I assume you read Susan's report the moment she filed it."

"Painful way to die," the wizard remarked, striding around a lab table to view the 'remains' of his most recent loss.

A pair of twisted, half-melted limbs, some scraps of an incinerated red coat's pockets, a pocketwatch in remarkably good condition, all things taken into account, and a single red stone the size of a man's fist. Regarding the miscellanea dispassionately, Fermier swept everything but the Stone off of the table with a wave of his wand. Flamel, who long ago had grown accustomed to his colleague's eccentricity, was taken aback.

"What the hell do you think you're you doing? This is all that's left of the man you all but sent to his death, and you're just—"

"Not quite."

Flamel was taken aback, having lost the momentum he was building.

"What?"

"He's not dead yet."

"Fermier, there's nothing left but ashes and metal."

"And a Philosopher's Stone. Tell me, Flamel, you've worked with Horcruxes, correct?"

"Yes, but I don't—"

"And you've seen what happens when the energies driving them are removed. The magic dissolves, and the soul is released. Tell me, then, why this Philosopher's Stone, which, for all intents and purposes, is quite similar to a massive Horcrux, remains intact."

"…Because there's still energy inside it. And if it's still intact, that means it's still absorbing energy, then that would mean that—"

"Elric's soul hasn't quite shuffled off the mortal coil yet," Fermier finished with a satisfied smirk. Flamel tagged him with a Stinging Hex.

"Stop interrupting me, brat."

The two stood in silence for a moment, contemplating the not-quite-dead-yet Philosopher's Stone, before Flamel spoke again.

"So, how long do you think it'll take?"

"I thought you were the expert."

"I am, but I've never used up my Stone to this degree before. All my data suggests that absorption rates are inversely related to the amount of energy present, but by that measure, and given the amount of time he's been like that, what with Susan's escape from the compound, the Portkey back, and the time he's spent in the Department, there should be plenty of energy by now, but something's stopping him from—"

The Stone crackled, red lightning flashing out in thick lances, grounding into every remotely magical object nearby as it rapidly drained power from its surroundings. A lattice of red sparks danced around the Stone, forming first a ribcage, then the rest of a human skeleton. Muscles and tendons sprouted from joints and veins filled with the Stone's liquid state coiled themselves around the body.

Flamel, looking slightly green, stepped outside the lab while Fermier looked on in interest.

As Edward Elric sat up, his freshly-regenerated face still sparking, he wore an expression of confusion and anger. This shifted to surprise, then embarrassment, and then back to rage as he realized both where he was, and his current state of dress.

Flamel opened the door just in time to run into Fermier.

"You might want to give him a few moments," the scientist said. "It would seem that his regeneration is indeed limited to only his body."

The aged alchemist took a moment to parse that statement before his mind flashed back to the charred scraps that were all that was left of Elric's attire.

"Ah. Yes, that might be best."

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was more than slightly irked. Yes, that was a good way to put it. Given his generall genial personality through the most stressful of crises, it took quite a bit to penetrate the feet of steely control he kept over the volatile anger he once held as a youth.

Today, however, had been exceptionally trying.

It had started with an incident at the breakfast table in the Great Hall. An otherwise uneventful meal was interrupted by a prank performed by the Weasley twins. In a rather ingenious display of Charms work, they had pranked the entire Slytherin table with a modified Color Changing Charm. If that had been the end of it, he would have held no issue. After all, it had been a rather excellent little bit of spellwork. However, the modifications they had made caused the students affected to randomly strobe through colors and patterns at individually pulsing intervals, all in an eye-blinding neon.

The headache he had garnered from that morning was only exacerbated when Severus threw an apoplectic fit in his office, his demands ranging everywhere from the immediate expulsion of everyone named Weasley from Hogwarts to express shipping the entire Griffindor house off to Azkaban. He had been forced to leave the issue unresolved, and Severus an eye watering shade of pink, as he received an emergency firecall from Alastor and was obliged to meet the man in person.

He then was told that, for the past several hours, a pair of individuals had been laying waste to the Russian Ministry of Magic's lower levels. Apparently the entire country had been tuning in to the special broadcast as his Potions Master was busy throwing tantrums. What Moody had to add, however, was that his contacts within the Ministry identified one of the two as a rather familiar looking fellow with golden hair and a red coat. Dumbledore had no clue why the demon had waited nearly half a year before restarting his terror spree, but he wasted no time in contacting the head of the MKGB, who refused his politely phrased offer of assistance in dealing with the pair of dangerous terrorists demolishing their way through his workplace. When Dumbledore asked in a less friendly, more son-I-fought-Grindelwald-and-won tone, the man promptly refused a second time, and then ended the call, forcing Dumbledore to listen to the aftermath of the siege on the Wireless as the remainders of the complex collapsed, no survivors found. He had then returned to his office, bemoaning the loss of the only lead he'd had.

All this led up to his current state of mind, staring down at the Ministry flunky who'd arrived not minutes after he'd stepped out of the Floo. The man coughed slightly, then under the Headmaster's expectant gaze, pulled out a scroll of parchment bearing the official seal of the Hogwarts Board of Governors.

"Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, due to your concerning inaction in this time of peril and your displayed inability to prevent such serious events from occurring, you are henceforth _erk_"

The man choked on his words as the pressure in the room seemed to triple. Behind his desk, Dumbledore's face remained impassive, even as his eyes elevated their twinkling to a steady shine and the air suddenly smelled of ozone. Several small silver trinkets began subtly vibrating in place, and though the light never changed, at the same time its source seemed to grow farther and farther away.

Dumbledore reached into his candy jar, pulled out a Sherbet Lemon, and popped it into his mouth.

A bead of sweat trickled down his neck, and he was suddenly, painfully aware of how loud his heartbeat was. Every slight shift in his weight brought ripples of tingling sparks across his skin, invisible yet all too tangible. A spindly looking instrument rattled off of its precarious perch and shattered on the floor. Neither man bothered to look down, for very different reasons.

Dumbledore sat.

And as the most powerful wizard in the world waited patiently behind his desk, the Ministry official shakily raised his crumpled missive, fingers twitching with nerves and slippery with sweat.

"H-henceforth disbarred and dismissed f-from y-y-your post as Headm-master of Hogwarts, effective i-immediately." The words tumbled from his lips, catching slightly each time he glanced back up and remembered who he was giving the boot to.

And as he finished his proclamation, the last syllables dying in the charged air of the office, the atmosphere held all the delicacy of a tempest contained within a soap bubble. If he so much as moved, if he broke eye contact, if he dared to even draw breath, the fragile calm would be broken and terrible things would happen.

Slowly, not even risking to turn his back, the portly man backed to the door, turned the knob, and slipped out. Only when it was gently shut, containing the terror and the power in that office room, did he turn and run.

As soon as the door swung shut, Dumbledore let out an immense sigh as all his anger left him, replaced by regret. He had expected the Board to act sooner or later, but he'd been _so close_. Just a few more weeks, and he was positive he'd be able to pinpoint the source of the attacks and bring the one responsible to justice. But Hogwarts did not have weeks, but rather days, and the Board knew it. He wouldn't be able to catch the Heir from afar, but there were a few things he could leave to whoever the Ministry sent in to deal with it.

After making the necessary preparations with Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, Dumbledore packed up his office after nearly half a century as Headmaster. All his possessions flew into a dusty, tattered trunk, and he absentmindedly repaired the instrument he'd broken earlier as its pieces joined the rest of his things. Shrinking his trunk and putting it in his pocket, the Headmaster of Hogwarts walked down to the Great Hall and out of his school. At least his headache had gone away.

"Ah, Cornelius. What brings you here today?"

* * *

Pride had not been having the best day. He'd woken up (naked) on a cold lab table just in time to see Fermier's quickly retreating back. So much for his dignity.

The clothes, thankfully, had been repaired prior to Fermier leaving, and his pockets (and by extension everything in them) had fortunately survived the fire. His automail was a complete wreck, but after twenty or so agonizing minutes he'd managed to get Elric to fully repair that, too. That was where his relatively good mood had ended.

After being subjected to every psychological test under the sun, he was handed back to Fermier, who proceeded to conduct even more tests. Edward was unavailable for moral support, as he was too busy analyzing whatever knowledge it was Truth had stuffed into their skull. Something about a stick? There was definitely some weird triangle-eye symbol, but he was a little too busy being naked to pay much attention.

He'd met Susan, who after a brief moment of absolute silence in which he'd worried she'd gone and broken on him (humans were so fragile) had grinned, slung an arm around his shoulder, and steered him unwillingly to meet Fleming, who she had just come from visiting. They made some small talk and Ed's questions were finally answered. Apparently Fleming was something they called a Metamorphmagus, and that meant his…her…his appearance was flexible. Good talent for Espionage, Ed had noted.

Just when he might have started a decent conversation, Fermier had shown up to drag him off to the head honcho's office, which had led to the heated discussion currently taking place in front of him.

"You want _what?_"

"To send Elric as part of the Hogwarts team. I would think, given the high number of missions you've personally recommended him for, that you would be agreeable to the idea."

"The last time Elric went on a mission, an entire seat of government was turned into a sinkhole and he nearly killed himself."

"Fermier, all but one of our Operatives are out on missions, and this is a time-sensitive thing. We can't wait for anybody to come back, and we can't jeopardize another mission by pulling anybody away. Elric's the only logical choice. And besides, his partner should be able to keep a handle on him."

"Who is it?"

* * *

Unspeakable Operative John Doe was back from his vacation and feeling _excellent._ His contacts within the department had informed him of the unfortunate demise of…certain parties…and he was glad to be able to come back to a Department free of soul-devouring shadow monsters.

But before he could meet up with his partners down at the Dueling rooms, he had an appointment. To be personally summoned by the Department Head was a rather big deal, after all. He couldn't wait for whatever mission the Head Unspeakable had in store for him. It would be just like before that fateful training exercise. Just him and one of his old buddies, tracking down the evil wizards and making them pay in exponentially creative ways. With a broad grin on his face, he pushed open the door to Unspeakable Croaker's office and stopped dead.

"_You._"

* * *

**There are no cliffhangers this time, so I feel that I can be slightly less guilty about the update period. Writer's block was hitting for the longest time, and even when I managed to get something written, it usually ended up being scrapped and rewritten two or three times. But now we're back on plot, and the next chapter should take less time to write.**

**Fingers crossed!**

**But seriously, you all have my sincere apologies for that four-month period of silence. Dick move on my part, I know. On a better note, I am in a college and midterms are mostly done, so things (should) be getting easier. Hopefully.**

**One last thing—urs-v caught an error in Chapter 13 in which Fleming is referred to using both male and female pronouns. This is due to an earlier draft in which Fleming was an Unspeakable named Mary, but that was changed because it was a stupid name and a stupidly indirect joke. However, Lhurgoyf and I obviously didn't catch everything. So now Fleming's a metamorph, the plot hole is patched, and urs-v gets my undying gratitude.**

**As always, if you want a question answered, or an omake request done, drop a review and I'll get back to you!**

**-Ambiguity**


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